I Just Want to Help
by Rosina White
Summary: All Italy ever wants to do is make things better, easier, and to keep people from getting hurt. All he manages to do is mess things up and make things worse. Please review.
1. Cheer Up

Germany sat quietly on his couch, staring off into nothing. Italy, even though he had a hard time telling what other people were feeling, knew he was sad.

"What's wrong?" He asked, smiling. Maybe if Germany saw him smile, he'd be happy again.

Germany looked up at him, "Nothing, Italy. Go away."

Italy was hurt, but didn't question him. He left the room and found himself in the kitchen, idly staring into the cupboard.

_Why does he always tell me to go away when he's sad?_ Italy thought, _I just want to make him feel better, but he just gets mad at me..._

He began to absentmindedly sort through pots and pans, acting as if he was doing something, _I hate when Germany's sad, and he always says I can't help. I want to help so badly. I Just want him to be happy._

But the problem with that was that Italy wasn't very good at comforting people. He'd smile, laugh, give a hug, and tell them that everything would be okay. This worked with some people, but Germany was far too realistic and blunt. He knew that no matter how many smiles, and laughs, and hugs one person gave a problem wouldn't go away.

"AH!" Italy screamed, having dropped a very large pot on his foot. He heard Germany groan loudly from the living room, and snap at him,

"Was are you doing?"

Italy sat down in a chair and put his foot up, "Er, nothing. I'm okay! Don't worry, I'll put these back...eventually." He looked at the large pile of cookware he'd made.

Germany looked in from the living room at the mess and Italy, "Feet off the table! And put those away _now,_ unless you plan on cooking with them!"

_Oh great, I just made him angrier._ Italy thought, sadly, _All I ever do is make him mad._

He put his foot down and sighed, "Scusa...I'm putting them up right now."

"Danke." Germany said flatly.

Italy stood slowly, unsuccessfully avoiding putting weight on his injured foot. He whimpered, sinking to the ground, biting back the instinct to ask Germany for some help. _Get up, he'll get mad if he sees that you hurt yourself again._ Italy scolded himself, in his head.

He grabbed the back of his chair and pushed himself up, lifting the injured foot off the ground. He loudly hopped on his good foot over to the counter, "Italy? Was in Gott's name are you doing?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Italy yelled, now leaning on the counter, sorting through the cookware, making an obnoxious racket.

Germany, very much annoyed, stated, "I'm just going to go up to my room. When I come back down this better be cleaned up."

Italy hastily replied, "Yes sir!" And fell to the ground as soon as he heard Germany's bedroom door slam at the top of the stairs, unable to stand on one leg any longer.

_I'm so stupid. _Italy thought to himself. _I should just leave before I make things worse._

He pulled himself up with the counter and managed to get the rest of the pots and pans stacked messily into the cupboard. _I'll stack them nicer for him later._

Italy limped over to the door and carefully slid on his boots. He put on his jacket and yanked the door open, taking one quick glance around the house. _I shouldn't have even come over. He sounded grumpy on the phone, too. I should have known when I try to make things better I just mess them up._

He turned out the door and left, slamming it a little harder than he intended. Mostly out of frustration with himself. _Stupid._


	2. Betrayed

Germany's mind raced from stressful topic to stressful topic. _We're losing this war._ He almost a didn't notice the Italian bearing a worried expression.

"What's wrong?" Italy asked, bearing a cheeky smile.

_Why is he smiling? What is there to smile about right now?_

"Nothing, Italy. Go away." Germany replied as kindly as he could, biting back an angry response.

He noted a brief flash of distress across Italy's face as he turned away, but didn't think much of it. _Maybe he finally realized the gravity of our situation._

There was a clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, _Was is he cooking this time? If it's pasta again I swear to Gott I'm going to-_ "AH!" His thought's were cut short by a crash and a scream.

"Was are you doing?" He yelled, getting more and more irritated by the second.

Italy hollered from the kitchen, "Er, nothing. I'm okay! Don't worry, I'll put these back...eventually."

_Put was back?_ Germany leaned over on the couch, peering into the kitchen. Italy had his foot up on the table and there was a pile of cookware on the counter and one large pot on the floor. He felt his face get red with pure irritation.

"Feet off the table! And put those away _now_, unless you plan on cooking with them!" He yelled, near his limit.

Italy's face scrunched a little, holding back revealing a frown. He sighed and slowly moved his foot from the table top, "Scusa...I'm putting them up now." His whole demeanor screamed kicked puppy, causing Germany to feel a little bad. It's not like Italy went out of his way to make messes, though it did seem like it sometimes.

"Danke." He said, trying to soften his tone. It only came out flat and slightly less irritated, and then repositioned himself on the couch, no longer looking into the kitchen, rather staring at the floor, thinking desperately of ways to win. His thoughts were once again disturbed by obnoxious noises from the kitchen. This time it was loud thuds, as if someone was bouncing something heavy, or walking with two feet tied together.

"Italy? Was in Gott's name are you doing?" He snapped, having given up on softening his tone.

The noise stopped and Italy hastily relied, "Nothing, nothing!" Making more noise now with all the movement of cookware.

It was taking every ounce of restraint Germany had not to explode then and there. He needed to go somewhere away from Italy before he snapped and feelings got hurt. "I'm just going to go up to my room." He said through gritted teeth, "When I come back down this better be cleaned up."

Germany started up the stairs hearing Italy call obediently, "Yes sir!"

Once in his bedroom he slammed the door behind him and sat on his bed. All was quiet downstairs for awhile, until the stirring of pots and pans was heard again, this time muffled through the door. Germany threw himself back on his bed and pressed two pillows to his ears, trying to block out the noise.

_"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Italy cried. Germany looked away, disgusted._

_ "I can't believe you did this...I can't believe you. You've betrayed me."_

_ Italy's face twisted in pain and he sobbed loudly, "No! No, I never meant to! I was trying to do what was best!"_

_ "What was best for who? The Allies?" Germany yelled into Italy's face, grabbing him by the collar._

_ "No...no." Italy muttered, looking into Germany's eyes, "For everyone."_

_ Germany couldn't stand to look into those sad, amber eyes anymore. All it did was make him angry, angry enough to hit him. He turned away and let go of Italy, balling his hands into tight fist to restrain himself from violence._

_ "Germany?"_

_ "Go away." He said in a terrifyingly soft tone._

_ "Germany it's okay, just because we lost it doesn't mean-"_

_ "GO!" Germany screamed into Italy's face, causing him to fall backwards into a mud puddle, startled._

SLAM! Germany awoke to a loud bang, startled. He had fallen asleep. _It was just a dream...Gott sei Dank, it was just a dream._

He got out of bed, stiff from the awkward position he'd fallen asleep in. He went to go inspect where the loud slam had come from. _Probably just Italy, again._

No matter where he searched around the house there was no Italian to be found. He did find that the cookware had been sloppily stuffed into a cabinet, though. Germany came to the conclusion that he'd left, thankfully. Now he'd have some peace and quiet to think about that strange dream.

_Italy betrayed me somehow. That's stupid, he's as loyal as a dog. Lazy as a dog, too. What a ridiculous dream. _He thought to himself, but some strange nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that this dream was at least of some significance. Ger many impatiantly drummed his fingers on a table, _It was just a dream._


	3. Bad Dreams

Italy limped into his home and collapsed on his couch, sighing deeply._ I need a siesta... _He thought, exhausted.

He kicked off a boot and gingerly peeled the other off his injured foot. He removed all other articles of clothing and grabbed a blanket off his floor, too lazy to go into his bedroom. He snuggled into the couch and cocooned himself in the blanket, finally falling asleep in a comfortable little wad.

_"Germany?" All Italy could see was blood, blood everywhere. "Germany! GERMANY!"_

_A cruel voice came from behind him, "You should have given up when you had the chance."_

_Italy began to cry, "Germany, get up! Get up please!"_

_"If you would have just surrendered this wouldn't have happened. You should have known you were going to lose either way."_

_"PLEASE! PLEASE GERMANY! GET UP!"_

_The voice got closer, "This is your fault, Italy."_

_"GERMANY!"_

_"Too late now." The voice whispered into his ear, "Germany's dead."_

Italy awoke in a heap on the floor, breathing so heavily he was almost dizzy. He crawled out from the blankets, as they'd suddenly become too hot, and huddled up into a little ball.

"Germany..." He muttered, nervously rubbing his arms in an attempt to calm himself down, "I need to see Germany."

Italy grabbed a shirt and put it on, standing up a little too quickly on his hurt foot. "Gah!" He yelled, falling over.

_Oh right...shoes, pants. Germany would get mad if I forgot pants again._

Italy pulled on the rest of his clothes, and limped as fast as humanly possible out the door, no longer caring on Germany's current mood. He just had to see him, to see if he's okay.

Italy burst in through Germany's door, tripping face first onto the rug.

"Was sie Hell? Italy?" Germany looked a little startled.

Italy carefully stood, panting. "You...dead...dream...bad..." He spoke quickly between heavy breaths, and then lunged in for a hug, "But you're...okay!"

"Get off!" Germany demanded, "Was about a bad dream?"

Italy released obediently released Germany, smiling, "Ve, nothing! Everything's fine now!"

"Okay, if you say it's fine." Germany's eyebrows furrowed, "Though I don't see why'd you'd run all the way down here if it was nothing."

Italy shrugged and laughed, "I guess I just really wanted to see you."

Germany shrugged, sighing for lack of anything else to say.

"So you feeling better?" Italy asked, hoping that Germany's mood had heighten a little since his departure.

"Nien." Germany muttered, looking thoughtfully out the window, "In fact I feel a little worse."

Italy's face dropped, "Oh...why?"

Germany was quiet for a little while, "Kind of because a bad dream, but it was nothing."

"You sure?"

Germany nodded, "Ja, ja. I'll be okay, just give me a little while."

_I wonder what Germany's dream was about...I don't think he's want to talk about it though. I really don't want to talk about mine. If I ask him about his, he'll probably make me tell to be fair._

"Okay!" Italy said, cheerily. "While I'm over, you want me to cook some dinner?"

"No, I've already eaten." Germany lied in an attempt to avoid a kitchen mess ending in the consumption of a dish he'd become insanely tired of.

Italy smiled, "Okay then! See you tomorrow!"

Germany tried to crack a faint smile, but it flopped into a slightly less intense frown, "Ja, see you tomorrow."

Italy waved and shut the door behind him, happiest he's been all day. _He's okay! Everything's okay!_

For some reason, though, underneath his happiness Italy still felt scared. The dream had just felt too real to let him rest his mind that easily. _But how long will everything be okay for?_


	4. Being Wrong

_That dream, that stupid dream. _No matter how he dismissed it, it still ate at Germany's mind. _What could Italy have done that he hasn't already? Well...there's a few things. But he'd never do any of them, and he'd most certainly never betray me. He's an idiot, a klutz, and a wimp; but he is no traitor._

_ "_He is no traitor." Germany repeated out-loud, trying to further convince himself.

BANG! Germany jumped, a little surprised to see the Italian had busted in through his door, and sprawled out over his rug, face down.

"Was sie Hell? Italy?" He questioned at the obviously Feliciano form peeling himself off the floor, wheezing and panting from having apparently running from his house to Germany's.

"You...dead...dream...bad..." He said between breaths. Next thing Germany knew Italy had him in a hug so tight it was almost painful, "But you're...okay!"

_Me, dead? Was about a dream? I can't think with him crushing me like this!_

"Get off!" He demanded. Once Italy had released him, Germany asked a question he hoped would encompass all others, "Was about a bad dream?"

Italy just smiled and answered cheerily, "Ve, nothing! Everything's fine now!"

_He's lying. He's stupid, but he's not stupid enough to run a this way for no reason whatsoever._

"Okay, if you say it's fine." Germany looked at Italy questioningly, "Though I don't see why you'd run all the way down here if it was nothing."

"I guess I just really wanted to see you." Italy said, laughing.

Germany shrugged. What else could he really say? Italy had made up his mind not to tell, and if Germany knew one thing about Italy it was that when it comes to dreams once he made up his mind it wouldn't be changed. Germany thought it extremely strange, since Italy could be so easily persuaded when it came to anything else. _His dreams really must be horrible if keeping them secret is that important to him._ Germany looked at Italy, suddenly feeling pity. _Why would you just choose to lock up painful things in your mind? I could help you. _

"So you feeling better?" Italy's tone was hopeful, his face prepped to bounce into a smile upon hearing a 'yes.' Germany wished that was what he could say. He wished so badly to be okay, and for Italy to think he was okay, but he couldn't lie when something was so apparently so.

"Nien." He looked out the window, not wanting to see that bubbly face now fallen into a frown, "In fact I feel a little worse."

"Oh...why?"

_That dream, that Gott forsaken dream! I can't tell him about it, though. No. He won't tell me about his dream, so I won't tell him about mine. It would only upset him more, anyway._

"Kind of because a bad dream, but it was nothing." Germany said looking back at Italy. He wished he hadn't that instant. Italy's whole face pleaded for everything to be better.

"You sure?" Italy asked, more hurt than convinced.

_Stop looking at me like that, I won't tell you!_

Germany nodded, "Ja, ja. I'll be okay, just give me a little while."

Italy grinned, "Okay! While I'm over, you want me to cook some dinner?"

_I'm not eating pasta again, and I'm not going to clean up after him again either. No way in Hell._

"No, I've already eaten." He lied.

Italy maintained his smile, giggling on his way to the door, "Okay then! See you tomorrow!"

Germany attempted to mimic Italy's smile, but it just ended up a less intense frown, "Ja, see you tomorrow."

Last thing he was when the door shut was Italy's brief wave. Germany sighed deeply and watched between a crack in his curtains as he skipped down the driveway.

_He'd never betray me. Stupid dream, stupid me for believe in such a dream, too. I can't believe I had to even think twice about it. _Germany smiled, content with being wrong.


	5. Cold Pasta

Italy, home once again, looked up at his clock.

"Romano will be home soon, I should make us some dinner. Maybe then he'll be a little nicer to me."

Italy got to work in the kitchen, starting making a tomato sauce from scratch while the pasta boiled. He heard his front door slam at the hand of an ornery brother.

"Ve Romano's home!" Italy yelled from the kitchen, running out to greet him, a knife in one hand, tomato in another, "Ciao, fratello! Did you have fun hanging out with big brother Spain, today!"

Romano down looked at his shorter brother, "What did I tell you about running with knives, stupid? And for the millionth time I was not hanging out with Spain, so shut up about it." He was Romano as usual, grumpy.

"Scusa." Italy muttered, making his way back into the kitchen to finish the pasta. Romano followed him in and sat down at the table, quiet for a little bit until Italy spoke, having finished making his sauce.

"Ve...Romano?"

Romano looked over at his brother, who was straining ravioli. "Yeah?"

"Today while I was taking a siesta I had this scary dream, and I know it isn't real, but it feels like...well I can't exactly explain it, I guess."

Romano looked at Italy, a little curious, "Well, what was it about?"

Italy shook his head quickly, "No, no, that doesn't matter. I just need to know what to think about it." He stopped to pour the tomato sauce into the ravioli.

"I can't tell you what to think if you don't tell me about it." Romano replied, slightly agitated, but mainly concerned for his brother.

_I can't tell him. No way I'll tell him, _Italy thought, _he'd probably get mad. Either that or laugh that Germany died. Germany died? He died...died..._ Italy was caught on that one word in his mind. Died. It was harsh and terrifying, and he didn't like using it in the same sentence as Germany's name. _No, it was just a dream. Germany didn't die. But if he did is that what it would look like? _He felt the blood drain from his face, and he ceased plating the pasta. The memory was too horrible, _No, don't think about it. He didn't die. It was just a bad dream. Germany didn't die and he won't die anytime soon. But I saw it...he was dead. Dead. Germany was-_

"Veneziano?" Romano's voice interrupted Italy's thoughts.

Italy softly muttered the only word that came to mind, "Dead."

Romano looked at him worriedly, standing up from his chair, "Who died? Are you okay? You look really pale."

Italy nodded numbly, still trapped in his own horrible thoughts. The wooden spoon he was holding slowly slipped from his grip, making a loud clatter when it hit the floor, jolting him back into awareness.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Italy covered in a cheery tone, "Just got a little distracted!"

Romano's eyes were wide with worry, "Just go sit down, I'll put it on the plates."

Italy bent over to pick up the spoon, speaking happily, "No, really, I'm fine! It's okay, I got this!"

"You're not fine, stop lying. Now go sit down!"

Italy reluctantly obeyed his brother, handing him the spoon on his way over to the table, everything was quiet for a while. Romano brought over the food and began eating, the only sound in the room coming from Romano's fork meeting his plate.

_It looks like blood..._Italy thought looking down at the sauce he'd created, _How'd I not notice when I was making it that it looked like blood?_

Romano knew something was off. Italy would never let a pasta dish just sit like that. Not to mention the whole silent freak out earlier. He was sure it had to do with the dream.

"So...about your dream."

Italy looked up at him, startled from his thoughts, once again. He shook his head quickly back and forth, communicating that he wasn't going to tell anything.

"It's okay, I'm not going to make you tell me about it!" Romano quickly answered.

Italy sighed in relief.

"But I just want you to know it was just a dream. No matter what, that's all it was. That's probably all it ever will be. You can't let stupid things like that affect your life so much." Romano looked at him comfortingly, but Italy just returned his gaze to his dinner.

He spoke softly, "I know that's true...but something about this feels like it's important. It feels like...like...It has something to do with me. Like I can either stop it or..." His voice trailed off, afraid of his final words on the subject, "...cause...it."

Romano looked at him with an expression both filled with pity and anger, "It was about that potato bastard, wasn't it?"

Italy said nothing, rather began to play with his fork.

Romano put his hand to his face and groaned, then decidedly set down his fork and stood, "I'm going to bed now."

"But it's not even six." Italy said, looking up at him, sadly.

_I knew I'd make him mad. All I ever do is make people mad._

"Lo so. Buonanotte." Romano said as he walked out, his tone so cold he made Italy shiver.

"Buonanotte." He whispered into his cold pasta.


	6. Tick Tock

_It's too dark in here. Too quiet, too._

Italy lay in his bed, eyes wide open. It seemed like the ticking of his clock was the loudest sound he'd ever heard.

Tick.

_Germany's okay._

Tock.

_And he's going to be okay._

Tick.

_For a very very very long time._

Tock.

_It was only a dream._

Tick.

_Germany didn't die._

Tock.

_Die..._

Tick.

_Stop thinking of that word!_

Tock.

_Die._

Tick.

_STOP._

Tock.

_Die die die._

Tick.

_Why am I doing this to myself?_

Tock.

_Die...dying...dead._

Tick.

_I think I hate that word the worst._

Tock.

_Dead._

Tick.

_STOP STOP STOP! GERMANY'S NOT DEAD!_

Tock.

_Dead._

Tick.

Italy started to cry.

Tock.

_If only Germany were here..._

Tick.

_I'd feel so much better._

Tock.

_But he isn't..._

Tick.

..._Because he's..._

Tock.

"WHAT AM I SAYING! HE'S NOT DEAD!" Italy screamed through his tears.

The room suddenly seemed to get darker, a feat Italy didn't know was possible. He could no longer hear the clock ticking thanks to the roaring in his ears.

_This dream is messing me up! Why can't I just forget about it? Forget! Forget! Forget!_

It didn't help, every time he closed his eyes he saw the blood. The blood all over the ground, all over his shoes, all over his hands.

_My hands...it's on my hands. It's my fault. It's all my fault._

He saw Germany's face, eyes open and glazed over, mouth ajar, scars and scratches twisting across his face.

_And it's my fault..._

And his body, limp and broken. The worst part was his arms, his arms seemingly reaching out for Italy. Laying across an empty, bloody patch of grass where Italy felt he should lay beside him. Where he _deserved _to lay beside him.

_Stop...just please stop. I can't take this, it's so dark and quiet and I'm afraid! It won't go away...It'll never go away. Why am I thinking about this? Why did I have to dream about it? I know there's a reason...there has to be. I'm not driving myself crazy over nothing. Just think why. Why? Why can't I just wave a little white flag to my thoughts? I can't just sit in here alone all night and do this...I need Germany. I know he said to stop sneaking into his room, but I don't care. I can't be alone like this, especially not right now. I need someone to protect me from that stupid nightmare...and there's only one person that will be good enough._

Italy threw the covers off into the never ending darkness of his room, "Germany."


	7. Sleep

_"I was trying to save you!" Italy sobbed._

_ Germany looked down scornfully at that country he was once so close to. He'd even go as far to say as he had loved him, but now he felt nothing but hate._

_ "You can't save me. You can't save _anyone._ You will always be useless, and I was a fool to think otherwise." Every word fell from his mouth as cold and sharp as an icicle. Each icy blade stabbing into Italy's heart._

_ "P-please...please Germany I-"_

_ Italy was silenced, suddenly knocked backwards by some force. Germany looked at his outstretched arm and the scornful fist planted at the end of it...had he done the unthinkable? Had he actually punched Italy? He must have._

_ Roaring sobs erupted from the broken form lying in mud, and Germany felt no shame. No remorse. He pulled his leg back like a spring and released it, right into Italy's side. It almost felt good._

Germany shot up off his pillow, horrified.

_What was that? How could I dream something like that?_

He looked down at his fists, disgusted with himself, remembering the feeling of making contact with Italy's face.

"Oh Gott." He buried his face in his hands, ashamed of his dream self.

_I can't believe I actually dreamed something like that. What kind of man am I?_

For Germany the absolute worst part was how right it felt in the dream, how gratifying it was. He wanted to vomit just remembering it. He'd been mad at Italy before, and he'd given him a slap across the wrist every now and then, but he'd never hit him like that. Never even considered it.

"What's wrong with me?" He muttered.

Then he noticed something he hadn't before, something touching him, or rather holding onto his arm. He pulled back the covers with his free hand to find the very Italian in question, gripping his arm as if it were the only thing he had between life and death. Germany's usual reaction would be to immediately remove Italy from his bed, but he was willing to make an exception this time. Partially because he felt like he owed Italy, even though he never actually beat him; and then partially because Germany himself needed a little comfort as well.

Germany looked carefully at Italy's sleeping face, fully visible in the bright light coming from the street lights through Germany's curtains. He looked sad and afraid, and every so often his grip on Germany's arm would get tighter, sometimes painfully so. His eyes were scrunched tight shut and his lower lip quivered, he'd sometimes kick a little. Germany didn't know where he should try and wake him up or not...spare him from whatever he was dreaming about. By the time he'd made up his mind it was no longer needed. Italy let out a shriek, appearing to wake himself up. He took one look at Germany and latched onto him, letting out harsh shaky sobs. Germany tried to awkwardly pat Italy on the back, but it felt more violent than reassuring. Though he could have just been paranoid about hitting Italy after the dream he'd had.

After a minute or two Italy seemed to realize where he was and what he was doing, he quickly let go of Germany and began to crawl out of the bed, "Scusa, G-Germania, I know I shouldn't have s-snuck into y-your room."

Germany felt bad, seeing how he'd trained Italy to feel sorry for showing affection. "Nein, It's okay. Just lay back down, it's too late for you to go all the way home."

Italy gave him a confused, yet grateful look, and crawled back into the bed timidly. Germany didn't mention the fit he'd had earlier, he decided he'd ask him about it in the morning. For now it never even happened.

"Germany?" Italy asked in a small voice.

"Ja?"

Italy turned to face Germany, revealing a totally broken, mortified expression. "I don't think I can get back to sleep."

Germany sighed, "Just try, okay?"

Italy nodded wearily. A few quiet moments later he was in a dead sleep, obviously exhausted both mentally and physically. Germany looked at Italy's face, happiest it looked all day. Not fake happy either, genuine contentedness. He was actually dreaming something nice, something to distract him from his horrible thoughts.

"Now if only I could get to sleep." Germany muttered, "Is it even worth trying?"


	8. My Fault

_"No, he's not dead!" Italy cried._

_ The voice hissed, "Stop lying to yourself."_

_ "No...NO. NO!" Italy screamed, falling to his knees, "NO NO NO NO NO!"_

_ "I told you, you only have yourself to blame."_

_ Italy looked into the dead eyes of Germany and let out a sob so loud his chest hurt, "Why?"_

_ The voice rang harshly in his ears, "He died saving _you._"_

_ Italy's breathing became shallow as he saw everything happen again, right before his eyes. Germany pushing him to the ground taking the wrath of enemy fire, unable to get down in time. Italy had been shot, too. But only once in the shoulder. It hurt, but the pain of a ragged bullet wound didn't compare to the pain of watching his closest friend get shot to death in front of his eyes. He loved Germany, and thanks to Italy's own foolishness he'd lost him. He saw every single bullet hit Germany in slow motion, every single horrible bullet from the first to the last. He didn't collapse until after six bullets had passed through his body, but he was hit by at least seven more on his way down. Then while on the ground he was shot ten more times due to laying out in the open, unlike Italy who'd been pushed down into a shallow ditch that smelled like blood and gun powder. He had lain there for hours until things became quiet, losing blood and staring at his dear, dead friend just out of his reach outside the ditch he'd pushed Italy into in a desperate attempt to save his life._

_ Italy screamed, horrified by the memory._

_ "Maybe if you would have just surrendered, this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have had to save you."_

_ Italy shuddered, "I didn't want t-to surrender th-this time...I w-wanted to b-b-be useful. I wanted to h-help G-Germany. I th-thought-"_

_ "You thought you could actually win this war? You thought you had a chance? Look at what thinking got you," The voice became angry, "YOU'VE KILLED HIM, AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO DIE TOO, THERE'S NO ONE HERE TO PROTECT YOU NOW!"_

_ Italy's crying became so violent he couldn't properly form words, "N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-oo! I...m-m-m-ean...d-d-dint m-mean. F-f-fault-t. M-m-m-m-my. A-all m-m-mine!"_

_ "That's right. It's all your fault."_

_ He couldn't take it, everything he felt at that moment hurt as if someone had shot _him _twenty-three times. He wanted to crawl over to Germany and join him. It was only a matter of time before Italy would be dead, too. Either bled out or killed in a battle without Germany to protect or guide him. Everything he felt at that moment could only be summed up in one sound._

Italy screamed at the top of his lungs, waking himself up. The first thing he saw was Germany's startled, concerned face. He latched on to him full force, so glad to see him alive and well. His started sobbing uncontrollably, every breath escaping his lungs fast and horribly shaky.

_Germany, Germany's alive! It was just a dream, just a horrible horrible dream. He's okay, he's right here. I'm safe, he's safe. Everyone's safe._

Italy stayed tightly wound around Germany for a little while, until he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be in Germany's bed and that Germany had never been a fan of violent hugs. Or any hugs, for that matter. Italy released him quickly, and got out of the bed, apologizing, "Scusa, G-Germania, I know I shouldn't have s-snuck into y-your room."

Italy looked at his face, it was filled with pity and concern, surprisingly enough.

"Nein, it's okay. Just lay back down, it's too late for you to go all the way home."

_He's not mad at me? Why isn't he mad at me?_

Italy gratefully crawled back into the warm bed, making sure to stay on the very edge as far as possible from Germany, afraid of invading his personal bubble again. He just lay there tensely curled up into a ball.

_What if I have another nightmare? What if it's even worse?_

"Germany?"

Germany replied in a strangely gentle tone, "Ja?"

Italy turned to face him, looking into his worried, blue eyes, "I don't think I can get back to sleep."

Germany sighed, "Just try, okay?"

Italy nodded wearily and shut his eyes slowly, afraid that if he visually parted with Germany the bad dreams would instantly return. Suddenly everything became warn and safe. More warm as safe as they'd ever been while drifting off to sleep.


	9. Run

Italy stared up at the ceiling, having woken up a while ago. Germany wasn't there, Italy assumed he had woken up a while before he did, since that's what usually happened. Italy was busy doing some hard thinking about the dream he'd had the night before.

_It's definitely a continuation of my first dream, except this one actually told me something. I have to surrender. If I don't Germany will die. I know he'll get really mad, really really really mad. He'll probably hate me. I don't want him to hate me... but I don't want him to die either. Maybe he'll understand if I tell him? No, he'd tell me it was just a nightmare and to forget about it. I wanted to help, for once I really wish I didn't have to give up. Just this once I wanted to be useful, but I can't. I will never be useful, I just get in the way. If I don't surrender Germany will die, and it will be all my fault. I have to sign an armistice with the allies...oh Germany's really not going to like that. But I have to, even if he hates me it's better than him being dead. So I'm doing it, I'm definitely doing it._

Italy huddled further under the covers so that his head was covered "I really don't want to, though." He whispered.

He heard the bedroom door swing open, and a familiar voice spoke, wearily, "Wake up, Italy. We're heading back out."

Italy popped his head out from under the covers and was met by the face of a very tired German. "I'm already awake...ve, where are we going?"

Germany cocked one eyebrow, "To battle, you knew that."

Italy's heart almost stopped. _No...no no no. Was that today? It doesn't matter, because I'm not going. I can't go, not now that I've made up my mind. Oh no, how am I going to explain this to him?_

"Are you okay?"

Italy snapped back into reality, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. About that battle thingy...can we postpone that a day or two?"

"Are you crazy?" Germany looked at him, completely awestruck at Italy's absurd question, "You can't just postpone a battle, it doesn't work like that!"

_What am I going to do? What if this is the battle where...where...no don't think about that. Just think of a way to get out of this...how do I get out of this?_

Italy feigned a little cough, "But I think I might be sick."

Germany wasn't convinced, "Get up and get dressed. You're going."

He turned around and left out the door, giving Italy no more chances to convince him otherwise.

_Okay, okay...I'll figure something out. _Italy thought while getting out of the bed, _There has to be a way, there must be something I can-_

His thoughts stopped short as Italy rest his gaze on the window, suddenly getting an idea.

_I'll just leave. Yeah, that's it. He'll be so mad, though. Oh well. It's not like what I'm about to do isn't already going to make him hate me._

Italy quickly got into his clothes, folded nicely atop Germany's dresser, who had probably discovered them on the floor and put up, due to his insane obsession with cleanliness. Once dressed he walked over to the window and looked out, suddenly realizing a flaw in his plan, t_his is a second story window..._

Italy looked around the room for something, anything rope like. No such luck. _I can just climb out...can't I? I know I'm clumsy, but if I'm really careful I shouldn't die. Hopefully._

He slid the window open and looked down at the perfectly trim lawn and hedges below him, "I can't believe I'm actually doing this."

He climbed carefully out, holding tightly to the sill and dangling scarily out the window before getting footholds on the brick wall. _Okay...now what? What else is there to grab hold of?_ He discovered a small space near his belly button where a brick had fallen out, leaving a place to grab hold. He tightly gripped it with both hands and very carefully moved his feet down with the rest of him. _Okay, now I need another hand hold. _There was a very thin ledge a little lower down than where his elbows rested, it would have to do since it was all he had. He gripped it, but it really hurt. There was only enough space on it for the very tips of his fingers. He was slipping fast, and thankfully found another space where a brick was missing to grab hold of.

"Italy?" He heard Germany speak from the bedroom window.

_Uh oh. That's not good..._

"Where did he go?"

_Climb faster, climb faster, climb faster! _Italy chanted in his head, descending as fast as he could with as little places to grip he was given. He was only halfway down when Germany's head popped out of the window.

"WAS SIE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" Germany's face got so red Italy was afraid it might literally explode.

Italy didn't answer, rather he tried to descend faster, which was probably not the most intelligent idea. Before he knew it he was tumbling down off the wall, landing in a very conveniently place bush below.

"ITALY! GET BACK HERE NOW! WAS ARE YOU DOING? WHERE ARE YOU GOING!"

Italy rolled out of the rather spiky bush and began running down the street, a little while later he heard a door slam behind him in the direction of Germany's house, _Here he comes, run! Run run run!_

Italy ran as fast as he could through the strangest places possible, hoping to lose his German pursuer. Every time he's thought he lost him, though, seconds later he'd hear those familiar boots, trotting at him with terrifying speed.

Finally after what felt like hours of running (though it was probably only thirty minutes.) Italy found himself completely lost, but at least rid of Germany.

_No going back now. _He thought, catching his breath, _Now...I just have to get to the Allies._


	10. Scheiße

Germany hadn't slept at all that night, despite finding comfort, even if just a small amount, in Italy's presence. The entire time he just lay looking at the face of the man laying next to him, sleeping contentedly. If Germany hadn't have been so glad to see him finally get some peace he might have been jealous of Italy's comfortable, peaceful rest.

Germany eventually sat up, feeling restless. The Italian shuddered on the far edge of the bed, and began to sleepily scoot his way to his German friend, needing warmth. Germany's face grew red as a sleeping hand reached up and grabbed a hold of his arm. Italy muttered something too heavy with rest to be deciphered, not to mention the only understandable syllables were in Italian.

The tall blond managed to dislodge Italy from his arm without waking him, it was actually a harder task than he first thought. Apparently when it came to sleep cuddling his friend had a fairly strong grip. Germany rose from the bed, being sure to gently reposition the covers over the sleeping nation so he wouldn't get cold. He saw a brief flash of amber between Italy's eyelids, and he muttered something in Italian, half asleep.

"È tiepido, come la pasta. Grazie"

All Germany managed to make out of that was the word 'pasta' and the word 'thank you.'

Italy's eyelids fluttered, as if deciding to wake up or not, half of Germany wished he wouldn't, wished for Italy to continue his peaceful rest while the taller nation found some sort of monotonous work to do to kill time. The other half wanted—no, _needed—_company and comfort. Germany repressed his selfish half and spoke softly, "Schlafen Sie gut, Italien."

It meant 'Sleep well, Italy.' He knew the auburn haired man wouldn't be able to understand what he had said, but it felt so much better to say in German. It made it more personal for him. Not that it mattered anyway, because Germany could have said it in perfect Italian and Italy would have been too asleep to even grasp the concept that he was being spoken to. Yet Italy must have somewhat heard what Germany said through his sleep, and though he didn't know what it meant, he made an effort to respond.

"Hehe...mi piace tedesco."

Germany didn't understand it, but it didn't matter much what he said. It just mattered that he'd even heard, and was even coherent enough to respond, even if only still in a dreamy state of mind. Italy smiled tiredly as Germany gently stroked his hair, before noticing the Italian's clothes on his floor. _I'm honestly amazed he's even remembered to wear them on the way over here, even though he still took them off before sleeping. At least he's improving. Baby steps._

Germany folded the clothes and set them gingerly atop his dresser. His mind began to wander, _Why is it that I like him so much? For all the trouble he causes me..._ Italy let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh in his sleep, _...he sure can be downright...adorable. _Germany cringed at his own thoughts, adorable? Did he just call Italy adorable? Yes...yes he had.

_Well, there's nothing wrong with a man finding his friend cute...is there? Oh who am I kidding, that's not normal. But...but...he's just so..._Italy stirred a little and muttered more in Italian

_Gott verdammt, I think I love him. Scheiße, I'm in love with a man? And that man is...Italy. The happy-go-lucky, pasta eating, white flag waving...Scheiße. Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße. I just can't...not, though. Something about him, Gott verdammt something about him just forces me...forces me to...love him. Scheiße._

Germany decided to get dressed, figuring he wouldn't get back to sleep anytime soon, though the bed looked so enticing. It looked so comfortable, and nice, and warm...not to mention Italy was in it, as well. But Germany fought back the urge to crawl back in and just lay there doing nothing. If he was going to be awake, he'd be using his time properly. Doing important things. Not just blatantly cuddling with his ally. He got fully dressed and went to his office, settling down for some important paperwork, his mind turning to what had to happen in the morning...He and Italy would be heading back out on the battlefield. Hopefully everything would go okay, as long as Italy didn't run around crazily with that white flag everything should work out fine. He didn't like going out to fight, though. He couldn't help but be a little nervous every time Italy joined him on the battlefield, as his fighting skills were extremely minimum at best. Germany sighed and returned to his work, mentally preparing for the day ahead.

Germany looked over at his clock, it read six thirty. _I should probably wake up Italy, we have to leave soon._ He pushed his chair out from his desk and stood slowly, stiff from the amount of time he'd spent sitting. He walked out to his room and creaked open the door.

"Wake up, Italy. We're heading out."

A head popped out from under the covers, "I'm already awake...ve, where are we going?"

_Wait...he was already awake? He's never up this early. And he doesn't know where we're going... I know I told him at least twice everyday this week!_

"To battle, you knew that." He said, cocking one eyebrow.

Italy's face paled to deathly white, and his eyes grew as round as saucers.

_Was sie Hell? I know he doesn't like battles, but Gott. He looks horrified._

"Are you okay?" Germany asked, taking a step closer.

Italy seemed to almost snap back into reality, his whole face relaxing as he spoke nonchalantly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. About the battle thingy...can we postpone that a day or two?"

_Is he an idiot? Does he even understand how important this is?_

"Are you crazy? You can't just postpone a battle, it doesn't work like that!"

Italy paused for a second, looked around, obviously trying to find an excuse for not going. He finally pretended to cough into a balled up fist, "But I think I might be sick."

_That might have been the worst attempt at faking illness I've ever seen._

"Get up and get dressed. You're going." He said, flatly.

Germany then turned and left to room, demonstrating that his mind was made up and no amount of convincing would get him to change it. They had to go.

Germany returned to the room a minute or two later after grabbing breakfast for the two. He felt a little bad about being so harsh with Italy, so he carried in a plate of pasta he'd reheated for the Italian.

"Italy?" He called as he entered the door, he looked around, suddenly realizing there was no one in the room.

"Where did he go?" Germany wondered aloud, bewildered as to how he could lose an entire country within the space of a minute. Then he noticed something...the open window. _No...no way. He wouldn't dare..._

Germany set down the pasta on his dresser and ran to peer out the window. Sure enough, when he looked down his gaze was met with wide, startled amber eyes.

"WAS SIE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" He screamed. _Was is he thinking? Is he insane? He never tried to escape before, not even when he was mien prisoner!_

Italy didn't respond, rather he attempted to climb down faster. Germany saw his foot slip an about had a heart attack when the little Italian tumbled off the wall. Thankfully he landed in a rose bush...Honestly not the softest place to land.

Germany was briefly relieved, until realizing Italy was still trying to escape for no apparent reason, he was thrown into a fit of rage, "ITALY! GET BACK HERE NOW! WAS ARE YOU DOING! WHERE ARE YOU GOING!"

Italy pulled himself from the bush, the thorns of all the roses sticking to his clothes. He had little scratches over his face and hands. Germany didn't wait around in the window to see him start running off, rather the large country bolted from the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the door. Ready to catch Italy and punish him, severely.

He spotted the latino running away, keeping his royal blue jacket always in his sights. Italy would never look back, rather keep running through the strangest places ever. Through allies, markets, under things, over things, he even ran right through someone's house at one point. When Germany lost him, he'd follow the soft 've' sound that sometimes came with Italy's panting. Then it would repeat, until finally, Italy ran into a large crowd of people. Upon seeing the larger man chasing someone around, people began to get angry. They yelled at him to stop and jumped in front of him, blocking his path. Some people even tried holding him back.

"No, no I need to get to him!"

"Shut up!" One man yelled, "What the Hell are you trying to do, chasing that poor man around town?"

"I'm trying to...he's running away...I-I need to get him!" Germany tried to form coherent phrases between pants. He'd failed miserably.

"Creep." "Asshole." "Thug."

Germany's mouth twitched as he tried to hold back boiling fury.

"Some people..." A woman loudly whispered to her friend.

Germany became blinded with rage. He violently pushed everyone in front of him to the side as he continued running. All the people that had been holding him back tossed over like rag dolls. It was no use though, he was too late. No matter where or how far he ran the escaped nation was nowhere to be seen. Germany bit back angry tears and yelled.

"ITALY!"


	11. Stay Strong

In the moments he was trying to figure out where to go and how to get there Italy's thoughts suddenly shifted. _Can I really do this? Should I really do this? What if it _is_ just a dream?_ Doubt filled every crevice of his mind and an inner war was waged, _If I do this I'll definitely lose Germany. He'd hate me, he'd never speak to me again, he might even kill me. _That was a terrifying though...being killed at the hands of someone he loved. Yes, he did love Germany, he loved Germany with every inch of his heart, and he didn't want to lose him in any way. _If it was just a dream I can still have him. We could still be happy and everything could be okay...but can I take that chance? Is it worth the risk? I...I don't think I can do this anymore..._his head started hurting from all the contemplation and worry.

_ Wait..._Italy looked straight ahead at the street he had found himself upon, eyes falling upon broken windows and boarded up buildings. The destroyed community wiped his mind of every thought for a brief moment, and all he could feel was sadness. Tears began to well in his eyes. It was now that one very important thing dawned upon him.

_This...this is what war does._ His lower lip quivered, recalling scenes smiler to the one before him at his home. _This is why I need to do this...it's not just about Germany now._

And it was true...Italy was being invaded and brutally attacked. He assume whatever battle Germany was going to set out on today would be to counter those exact invasions, but no. Italy couldn't take the chance and let Germany out there, not after those dreams; but Italy...Italy would surely die if he went out alone, or maybe even with just his brother. No way. They wouldn't make it.

_This is about me, too. They can kill me...they will kill me. I _have_ to surrender. If I don't I'll..._A tear slid out from his eye and plopped drearily on the pavement sprinkled with melancholy bits of broken glass and brick._ "..._I'll die."

There was one more thing Italy had to remember, he was only one part of the country. He'd forgotten that to surrender he needed Romano there, too. Not that that would be much of a problem at all...Romano would definitely agree. Italy could be sure of that. With all the trouble that war was putting the both of them through, it would be nice to just be done with it; but that wasn't even the biggest reason. An armistice would create a colossal rift between Italy and Germany. His brother would absolutely love it, since his hate of Germany was second to none. It would be the easiest decision Romano would ever have to make. Killing two birds with one stone. No more war, no more Germany.

_No more Germany..._Italy began to feel sick to his stomach as he thought of everything Germany had ever done for him, all the things he loved about the tall blond, everything he'd be giving up. He knew he had to do this, but it would be the most painful thing he'd ever have to do. By far.

"No...no more Germany!" Italy said aloud, firmly. The words were angry with himself for even contemplating non-surrender. His fists clenched and more tears began to roll down his cheeks, it hurt to think of anything.

"Just go...go tell Romano." He commanded himself through mouthfuls of salty water. "Tell him what we're going to do, think of how happy he'll be." He tried, but it just made things worse.

He took a shaky step forward, having no idea where he was going to go. He took another wobbly step, holding himself back from running in the opposite direction and surrendering to his own doubts rather than surrendering to the allies.

"You've made up your mind!" He scolded through sobs, continuing to walk unsteadily down the cracked sidewalk. His eyes trained on no particular spot in the distance. Finding his way home would be a battle unlike any he'd ever fought. It would be a battle against himself. I battle to stay strong and never forget why he was giving up. A battle to find his way on his own. A battle to protect everyone he loved, even himself, but at the high price payed in the love of the one he cherished most.

He could not lose. He could not surrender to himself. He must stay strong for once in his life. Stay strong to stay weak.

By some odd twist of fate, just as twilight licked the forsaken ground of earth Italy found himself on his front steps, looking into his own door, caught between the three options of running away, passing out on the front steps due to physical and mental exhaustion, or turning the knob and doing what he should. Telling his brother what they must do.

_How come it was never this hard?_ He thought, _It seemed so simple at first, run and surrender so Germany doesn't die...and I thought I was ready. I thought I could do it._ His hand reached tentatively for the knob and shuddered before quickly retracting, _Now I don't know anymore! Now I don't know what I know!_

He swallowed hard and shook his head, his whole body shaking, _I know...I know a few things..._ He spoke to himself in a shaky whisper, "Germany might die, Romano might die, I _will_ die." He choked on a soft sob, "And I need to do this." But a small part of his mind screamed, _would it be so bad if I died? What if I could save them both and just die alone? What if I could just die and Germany would never hate me? He'd remember me as his best friend who messed up and ran away once, but if Germany really cared he could forgive me for that. He doesn't know what I ran away to do, he could have just assumed I went to get pasta...I could just die and he'd think of me as I used to be before these stupid dreams...before this stupid war. I could die a hero and a friend and everything would be okay. He'd move on, they'd all move on. I wouldn't be missed much. What am I good for? If I just died for them I would have done something useful for once. I could do it, can't I? Why not?_

He stood still for a second, thinking about what it would feel like to die, would it hurt? What would happen afterward? His Catholicism declares that he'd go to Heaven or Hell, depending on who he was. Where would he end up if he purposely let himself die on the battlefield, Heaven or Hell? It was a kind of suicide, which was a ticket to Hell in his religion; but couldn't he go to Heaven if he did it for the sake of his friends?

His hands trembled and his head hurt with thoughts. His heart grew heavy and sad with all the contemplation of his own demise and how much better it would be for everyone if he died. Italy bit his lip and thought hard.

Don't do it. _Do it. _Open the door and tell your brother that you're both going to surrender. _Just wait 'til tomorrow and go on a suicide mission. _Do what's right. _Do what's easy. _Just open the door. _Just open the door. _Tell Romano about an armistice. _Go to bed. _Surrender in the morning. _Go to battle. _Run and hide before Germany finds out. _Get shot. _Try and forget about this whole mess. _Die._

This was a new battle, and it was a scarier battle. A battle concerning his will to live. A battle between two of his biggest fears. Being hated and dying. Live with the label of traitor or die with the title of hero? The worst part was, by betraying Germany and surrendering he'd be a hero and no one would know how. He would have saved a life or two or maybe even three and no one would know of it. He be a traitor and he'd be hated for it; but he could die. Just die in battle and people would call him a hero for that; and in a way he would be. He might have saved Germany and Romano, though not for sure. He wouldn't be a very good hero though, he would have died selfishly. He would have let himself die just so that he could never live in a world where he was hated.

Italy whimpered and winced at his own thoughts. He'd never thought he would think this hard and this seriously about letting himself die. Finally, though, he came to a decision. He swallowed hard and turned the knob surely, now knowing what had to be done. This was the only thing he could do for everything to work out right. This was the only thing he could do for the sake of everyone else. This was the only thing he could do for himself, but in the most painful way possible.

He pushed on the door and it swung slowly open, revealing the dark interior of his house and a worried looking brother planted upon his couch. _I've made up my mind._


	12. Sad

Romano locked eyes with his little brother. The younger Italy had definitely been crying, judging by the puffy red eyes and tear tracks down his cheeks. His hair was disheveled and his face hollow and tired. Something had obviously happened to him, or was going to happen to him.

_Shit...how am I supposed to break the news to him? He's obviously already fucked up. I'll just make things worse...maybe it could wait 'til morning? _Romano thought to himself.

"What's wrong? You've been gone all day." There were a few things he was refraining from saying at that moment: 'Are you okay?' 'I was worried sick.' 'Sorry about freaking out and locking myself in my room last night.' And the final thing was some big news he hadn't quite decided on revealing yet.

Italy sniffled and hesitated before answering, as if he had a lot on his mind. His mouth opened and a small noise came from his throat, as if he was going to say something but thought better of it.

"Nothing's wrong...I was just..." His voice trailed off. Romano could see that he was hiding something.

"Why don't you ever tell me what's wrong? Stop lying to me and tell me what happened!" Romano was getting mad at his little brother, _He really needs to start telling me things, dammit. Does he tell that damn potato bastard about this kind of crap? _His face began to flush red with jealousy and anger at the thought.

The northern half of the country shook his head and spoke quickly, "No, nothing's wrong! I'm fine, nothing happened!"

_He's such a liar..."_Tell me _now_, Veneziano!"

Italy bit his lip, as if trying to decide if he should say or not, finally he spoke. "I'm just a little worried about a battle tomorrow..."

_That's not all of it, he's hiding something big from me, I can tell. _"And?"

"N-nothing, that's all."

Romano drummed his fingers frustratedly on the side table next to the couch. When he spoke it was soft, trying to maybe take a nice approach. Maybe his brother would tell him what happened if he was nicer..."Please tell me the truth. I just want to help you out, here."

Another long silence. Finally the little brother spoke, "I just...I don't want to talk about it...or anything. I want to go to bed."

Romano looked up at the weary amber eyes and sighed, what was he supposed to do? _I'll just ask him in the morning, let him sleep it off. Then I'll be able to tell him the big news...not like telling him tonight would have much effect anyway._

"Okay...just go to bed." He said, looking down at the ground in thought, "But...don't worry of that battle tomorrow...I've got it taken care of."

Italy looked at him questioningly, "Wait, what? How?"

"Just...don't worry about it right now, okay? Get some rest." _Get some sleep and feel better. It only gets worse from here..._

"But no, I need to go to that battle. You have no idea...it's really important." Words flowed from the smaller nation's mouth like waterfalls of confused pleads.

_That's out of character...what's wrong with him? _"Wait, why? I thought you'd be happy about that!"

"No, I really need to go...okay?"

Romano shook his head, "What happened to you?"

Italy's face went from all out worry to confusion, "What do you mean?"

"You're...different. You're so..." His voice trailed off trying to find the right word, only one came to mind, "Sad."

"I'm the same as I always am."

"No you're not..."

"I'm fine, really. Same old Veneziano I always was!"

Romano shook his head, "Lately...you've been changing."

Italy's face fell further, "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was being so...different."

"No, don't be sorry. Just tell me why you're becoming less...you."

Italy shrugged, "I'm not...I don't...know."

"Okay, just...just go to bed." _Let it go, just let it go for now. _He urged himself.

"But what about the battle?" Italy asked, still hoping to go.

Romano shook his head dismissively, "We'll talk about it in the morning, okay? We have a lot to talk about then..."

Italy looked worried, but didn't question his older brother. He walked out of the living room, leaving Romano alone in the dim, silent room.

_What the Hell is wrong with him? Is someone hurting him? He was covered in scratches...but he could have just tripped on something and cut up his face. I could easily see it. Dammit...he's just so...off lately. Wrong. Not happy. Depressed. Beat up. As if he was a walking lost cause. Actually, at this point he probably is. We both are._


	13. Given up

_I can't do this.._

The thought invaded his mind moments after opening the door. He had decided he was going to do the right thing. He was going to ask Romano to join him in surrender. Now that it was time to say something, though, he wasn't sure.

His brother's voice came out softer than the younger Italian had anticipated, "What's wrong? You've been gone all day."

Italy sniffled as he thought of what to say. _Tell him! You decided to tell him, remember? You two are surrendering! So tell him!_ He began to speak, but quickly silenced himself, second guessing the words about to pass through his lips. _I...can't do it. I don't want Germany to hate me. Japan either...they'd hate me. Germany especially. I can't do it, I can't._

It was pathetic how flawed the poor Italian's logic had become at this point. His first problem was assuming that something he'd seen in a dream would most definitely happen, though his dreams did have a strange tendency to be true to a certain degree. Second, he assumed that this dream could be prevented if he surrendered, so Germany wouldn't have to die for him. There were plenty other ways someone could die in a war, after all. Third, and probably his most flawed thinking yet, he assumed that his death would be just as effective as a surrender in saving everyone, and easier for him because he wouldn't have to live with being hated by the man he loved most in the world. Italy just kept jumping to conclusions.

_Just stall...stall until you've decided for sure what you're going to do..._

"Nothing's wrong...I was just..." He failed to come up with an excuse for why he'd been gone the whole day. Italy was a horrible liar when he actually tried.

Romano gave a expression shifting slowly from worry to anger, "Why don't you ever tell me what's wrong? Stop lying to me and tell me what happened!"

"No, nothing's wrong! I'm fine, nothing happened!" He said, shaking his head quickly. _Please stop asking, I don't want to tell you!_

"Tell me _now, _Veneziano!"

_Now or never...you need to decide now. What are you going to do? What are you going to do? Come on, think, think! You could tell him and end this, maybe things would go back to normal someday if you surrender, maybe things would be okay, eventually..._

"I'm just a little worried about a battle tomorrow..." He was shocked at his own words, he'd honestly meant to bring up the topic of an armistice.

He looked up at his unconvinced brother, now giving him an expectant look, "And?"

_A second chance? _"N-nothing, that's all." He threw that second chance out the window. _You're weak...you can't do it. You deserve to die because you're weak!_ He kept beating himself up in his own mind with his own words. _I can't do anything right...at least this way the only person that would know I did something wrong would be me. If I surrender it would be the other way around..._

After a long, tense silence Romano spoke nicer than usual, whereas Italy would have expected him to yell, "Please tell me the truth. I just want to help you out, here."

Italy's mind had given out long ago, he hadn't eaten all day, he'd been wandering around for hours, he was planning on going on a suicide mission, and all he honestly wanted to do was collapse on the floor in a sobbing heap and pass out. He was sick of the questions and sick of the all the thinking about what to do. He wouldn't change his mind now, he was too tired to. He stopped caring somewhere in the time between walking in the door and then. He just wanted everything done with. The world had thoroughly crushed him and his spirit.

"I just...I don't want to talk about it...or anything. I want to go to bed."

The way Romano looked at him worried Italy a little...it made him feel like hid older brother could read his thoughts.

Romano broke eye contact and looked down as he spoke, "Okay...just go to bed." Italy let out a deep breath of relief. "But...don't worry about that battle tomorrow...I've got it taken care of."

That threw a wrench in the younger Italian's plan, what did he mean by 'taken care of?' Were they not going to fight? What were they going to do? "Wait, what? How?"

Romano looked up at him, suddenly looking just as weary, "Just...don't worry about it right now, okay? Get some rest."

_Is he saying we aren't going? I have to go. He needs to know that I _have_ to go. _"But no, I need to go to that battle. You have no idea...it's really important." Did he say to much?

Romano was shocked and confused, "Wait, why? I thought you'd be happy about that!"

"No, I really need to go...okay?" Italy stammered. There was no way he'd reconsider yet again.

Romano shook his head sadly and looked at his brother as if he was already on his death bed. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're...different. You're so..." Romano stared at him blankly as he searched for the right word to sum up his younger brother's changed demeanor, "Sad."

Italy didn't think he was that different. Yeah, he felt more sad for sure, but he really had no idea it was that obvious. It only registered as a change in his overall mood, not his whole personality. "I'm the same as I always am."

"No you're not..."

"I'm fine, really. Same old Veneziano I always was!"

"Lately...you've been changing." Romano said, his expression pained for the loss of his usually cheerful brother. Even though Italy irritated him often, he didn't want to see his brother lose what made him a far better person than Romano thought he could ever be. His positivity.

Italy became even more distraught, hearing how obvious it was that he was quickly becoming more and more disheartened. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was being so...different." _No...I'm sorry that I'm burdening you with it._

"No, don't be sorry. Just tell me why you're becoming less...you."

Italy didn't know what to say, he knew why, but at the same time he didn't know why. He knew it was because this war was wearing on him more than anything ever had in his life, but he couldn't understand why it was effecting him so much. He was usually able to forget about things and shrug them off, easily.

"I'm not...I don't...know."

Romano's lips tightened as if he was fighting back more questions, "Okay, just...just go to bed."

"But what about the battle?" Italy still hadn't let go of the previous conversation.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, okay? We have a lot to talk about then..."

_What does he mean? I'm going no matter what he says. There's no way I'm changing my mind again. I'm sick of thinking, I'm sick of listening, and I'm sick of answering questions! _Italy walked passed the couch and down the hallway before his mind go the chance to snap like a twig. God knows just one more thing and he'd go insane. He swung the door to his room open weakly, and then threw it shut in a fit of rage. Finally, he collapsed on his bed, muffling uncontrollable sobs into a pillow. A whole rainbow of emotions had just passed threw him like lethal bullets, leaving raw, painful wounds in their wake. Little wounds all engrained in his heart.

He cried himself to sleep that night for what he believed would be the last time.


	14. No More Choices

Romano looked at the hollow shell of a man that once was his little brother sitting bleakly at the table, his eyes fixated on the wood grain. Veneziano looked even worse off than the night before. His hair had gotten even wilder, his eyes even duller, and large black bags had now appeared below them, as if he'd had the worst sleep of his life. The kind where it just made you more tired to have a taste of rest. He knew the younger Italy had had a rough night, Romano had been kept up for all of it by his younger brother's crying, even though it stopped at around midnight. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say what he was going to tell his brother last night, now wishing he'd done it then, for Italy was obviously in an even worse state, now.

"So...I've been thinking." Romano started, worried when his brother didn't so much as blink in response, far to broken at this point to care, "I've been thinking about...surrendering..."

His brother, again, didn't respond, only worrying Romano more.

He continued to speak, "You know, this war is going pretty bad for us right now...if we don't do something soon...well, I think you know what's going to happen."

"Yeah." Italy said weakly.

"So...you're okay with this?"

No response.

"Veneziano, please answer me. Are you okay with this or not?"

Still no answer, Romano didn't notice to pool of tears forming on the table.

"COME ON, DAMMIT! WE'RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE, HERE!" Romano shouted, fed up with being ignored. He quickly regretted it after a long silence fell over the kitchen.

Suddenly his brother stood, screaming his head off, "I KNOW WE'RE GOING TO DIE! DO YOU THINK I'M THAT DUMB? I KNOW I'M STUPID, YOU TELL ME EVERY FUCKING DAY THAT I'M STUPID, BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT SOMETIMES I'M JUST IGNORING THINGS SO STUFF LIKE THIS DOESN'T HAPPEN! SO I DON'T GO CRAZY! BUT IT'S TOO FUCKING LATE NOW, I'M DONE WITH THIS! I'M FUCKING _DONE!_ YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU CAN'T TELL ME _ANYTHING! _I'M GOING TO FIGHT, DAMMIT, AND I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO ME OUT THERE!" His hands clenched around a salt shaker and he flung it at the wall directly behind Romano. If the older Italian didn't know his brother any better he would have thought that Veneziano was aiming for him. "GOOD LUCK SURRENDERING BY YOURSELF, AND GOOD LUCK TAKING OVER MY HALF OF THE COUNTRY WHEN I'M DEAD!" And with that, he stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned older brother in his wake.

_What the Hell? He's totally snapped! He finally fucking lost it! Shit, I need to go after him before he does something stupid. Shit shit shit shit shit! _Romano bolted out of the kitchen, and to his dismay, saw that the front door was wide open. Romano ran out and looked wildly around, not sure which way the northern half of the country would have gone, _Fuck, he's going to get himself killed!_

Romano saw the faint imprint of a bare foot in the overgrown grass to his right. He started with that direction, hoping for anymore signs of his runaway brother.

_ Fucking idiot! What the hell is wrong with him, does he love that goddamned potato bastard that fucking much? I swear to God if my brother dies over this I'm going to plug that mother fucking German with so much lead I'll be able to use him as a big ass pencil. I will, too. Fuck if I was kidding about killing the bastard before, but now? Now I'm gonna do it. I'm going to kill that mother fucking, potato eating, brother killing—_His thoughts were interrupted as he tripped over something laying directly in his path. It had auburn hair and was sobbing loudly into a clump of grass, "Oh shit, Veneziano?"

His brother didn't look up at he spoke through tears, grass, and mud. "...I can't d-do it...I c-can't do anything!"

"What can't you do?" Romano asked, letting the concern he had for his brother leak into his tone.

"I-I can't l-let myself d-d-die...but I c-can't surrender e-either...I c-can't do anything! I don't know...w-what...or h-how...I-I don't know..."

The older Italian pulled his brother's face gently out of the grass and brought his into a hug, rubbing his back in a way that he hoped was soothing. Hell if Romano knew, last time he tried comforting anyone was...well, it had never happened before.

"I'm s-sorry." His younger brother continued, "I'm sorry...I'm so so sorry."

"Stop apologizing, dammit!" Romano said, maybe a little too harshly, judging by how quickly it caused his little brother to shut up.

"...Sorry." Italy whispered weakly, one more time.

"Listen." Romano said, roughly pulling his brother's head off his shoulder and looking him in the bleary, blood shot eyes, "Everything's going to be alright, okay? We're going to go surrender, and that potato-" He caught himself, " I mean...Germany will understand." _No he won't, he's just a bastard that does shit like this to my little brother, _"Okay? For God's sake, we're dying! We need to do this or we'll _die._" Italy didn't speak, rather he looked down at his hands, fidgeting idly between blades of grass. "Veneziano?" Romano asked, now knowing that whenever his brother was silent, it was a very, very bad thing.

"...What if..." He stopped himself, considering what he was about to say, "What if I want to die?"

Romano looked at him, eyes wide in shock. "No...Veneziano don't say shit like that!"

The younger Italian looked up, tears shimmering in his eyes, "But it's true! What am I good for? What do I have to live for if Germany hates me?"

"...Me?" The southern half of the country tried to hide the hurt in his voice, probably failing.

Italy looked down avoiding eye contact, "You're my brother...and I love you...but I...I think I love Germany in a different way..."

"Oh God." Romano said, burying his face in his hands, trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes, "Veneziano...oh God. What the Hell? Oh God, what the Hell can I say?"

"Are you crying?"

Romano shook his head, still hiding his face with his hands, "No, no. Just...oh fuck, Veneziano. You can't kill yourself over this...don't you even think about killing yourself over that bastard. Fuck...fucking fuck."

"...I'm sorry."

"STOP SAYING THAT! STOP BEING SORRY!" He pulled his head out of his hands to reveal a face stained with tears and rage, "YOU NEED TO FUCKING MAN UP AND STOP APOLOGIZING ALL THE GOD DAMN TIME! DO SOMETHING FOR YOUR _OWN_ GOOD, DAMMIT! STOP APOLOGIZING, STOP WORRYING ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF YOU, AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE STOP PUTTING EVERYONE ELSE BEFORE _YOU!_" He jabbed a finger into his brother's chest to get the point across. Italy just looked at him with an expression half apologetic, half in agreement.

"Okay." He said in a small voice, stifling more tears.

Romano nodded, "Good. Now come on, we're going to sign that armistice."

"You mean...you already have it ready? The Allies already know and everything?"

"Yeah, all there is to do now is sign it. Then this will all be over." He gave a bitter smile at the thought. His brother, on the other hand, just bore a deepened frown.


	15. Guilt

Italy just stared at the table, numbly. _Please don't say what I think you're going to say...please, please, please._

"So...I've been thinking." Romano began, carefully. Italy made no move to acknowledge that his brother had spoken to him. The older Italian continued to speak, anyway. "I've been thinking about...surrendering."

_I knew it._ Still, Italy didn't respond in any way.

Romano continued speaking, "You know, this war is going pretty bad for us right now...if we don't do something soon...well, I think you know what's going to happen."

"Yeah." _I want it to happen._

"So...you're okay with this?"

_No! No! A million times over, no no no no no! _A tear drop hit the table, betraying Italy's once, emotionless face. _He'll hate me, and I love him so much I just can't take it! I don't want to give up this stupid war, I want to give up _everything.

"Veneziano, please answer me. Are you okay with this or not?"

More tears as Italy mentally screamed, _NO! But you won't listen to that! NO NO NO NO NO! But it's not like I have any other choice anymore, is it?_

The older italian had gotten fed up with being ignored, "COME ON, DAMMIT! WE'RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE, HERE!" His last words echoed across the room, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

Boiling rage suddenly enveloped Italy, he'd never felt like this in his life. _I know we're going to die! You have no idea what this is putting me though! You don't know how hard this is! You don't know how much I'd _rather_ die! _ Suddenly the anger tipped the scales and something in Italy's head snapped. He shot out of his chair and began screaming, pointing an accusing finger at his startled brother.

"I KNOW WE'RE GOING TO DIE! DO YOU THINK I'M THAT DUMB? I KNOW I'M STUPID, YOU TELL ME EVERY FUCKING DAY THAT I'M STUPID, BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT SOMETIMES I'M JUST IGNORING THINGS SO STUFF LIKE THIS DOESN'T HAPPEN! SO I DON'T GO CRAZY! BUT IT'S TOO FUCKING LATE NOW, I'M DONE WITH THIS! I'M FUCKING _DONE!_ YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU CAN'T TELL ME _ANYTHING! _I'M GOING TO FIGHT, DAMMIT, AND I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO ME OUT THERE!" He grabbed a salt shaker and hurled it at Romano's head, unable to control his anger for he'd never had to deal with rage this powerful before. The shaker exploded against the wall behind Romano in a shower of salt and glass. Thankfully, even when mad, Italy's aim was still very bad.

"GOOD LUCK SURRENDEING BY YOUSELF, AND GOOD LUCK TAKING OVER MY HALF OF THE COUNTRY WHEN I'M DEAD!" He screamed, bolting from the room and out the front door.

He ran as fast as he could, all the while crying and screaming, until he tumbled over, having tripped on his own feet. _Look at you! You can't even run away right! _He was smeared in mud and cut grass caked on his skin. He buried his face in the ground and continued crying powerful sobs, having lost all the strength required to move. Something knocked the wind out of him, having kicked his back, and landed on top of him. As Italy caught his breath and continued the sobs the thing had pulled himself off of him, exclaiming, "Oh shit, Veneziano?"

Italy didn't need to look to know who it was. When he spoke through the wails it was mainly to himself, "...I can't d-do it...I c-can't do anything!"

"What can't you do?"

"I-I can't l-let myself d-d-die...but I c-can't surrender e-either...I c-can't do anything! I don't know...w-what...or h-how...I-I don't know..." He answered, his face stinging and raw from the salty tears drenching his cheeks.

He felt Romano pull him up out of the grass and hugged him awkwardly. The soothing hand caressing Italy's back just made him feel guilty rather than better. _And now you have to make _me_ feel better, even though everything is my fault. This isn't fair, nothing is fair, anymore._

"...Sorry." Italy tried to apologize for his own weakness.

"Listen." His brother said in a suddenly harsh tone, pulling Italy back to look him in the eyes. "Everything's going to be alright, okay? We're going to go surrender, and that potato- I mean...Germany will understand."

It was a surprisingly nice thing for his brother to say. It was a little weird hearing him say Germany, though. It made Italy wonder for a second if the italian speaking to him was even his brother, in the first place.

"Okay? For God's sake, we're dying! We need to do this or we'll _die._" Romano continued, trying to further convince his brother.

Italy was dead silent, _I'd rather die, this time, though. I _want_ to die! I'm so sick of worrying, and thinking, and fighting! I don't want anyone to hate me, and they can't if I just die! They'd all be sad and sorry for me, and I'd be missed and loved. But if I surrender...everyone will hate me! Germany will hate me, especially. And I love him so much, I just can't do it. I don't have a choice anymore, though do I?_

"Veneziano?"

Italy finally began to speak to his brother, "...What if..." _Should I really tell him the truth? He'd probably get mad..._"What if I want to die?"

The look on his brother's face drove a spike of regret straight through Italy. It was as if someone had punched Romano right in the stomach. The younger Italian instantly looked back down out of guilt.

"No...Veneziano don't say shit like that!"

Tears welled up once more in Italy's eyes, "But it's true! What am I good for? What do I have to live for if Germany hates me?"

"...Me?"

The look of utter hurt and distress on Romano's face caused Italy to avert his eyes, guilt once again plaging him. _I'm so sorry, fratello!_ "You're my brother...and I love you...but I...I think I love Germany in a different way..." _In the way where I don't think I can live without him..._

"Oh God." Romano chocked on a sob as he hid his face in his hands, "Veneziano...oh God. What the Hell? Oh God, what the Hell can I say?"

Muffled sobs emitted from his brother as he shook with th effort of trying to hid it.

"Are you crying?" Italy asked out of pure surprise.

Romano shook his head hurriedly, trying to shrug off his hurt, "No, no. Just...oh fuck, Veneziano. You can't kill yourself over this...don't you even think about killing yourself over that bastard. Fuck...fucking fuck."

The load of guilt on Italy's chest only increased, "...I'm sorry."

"STOP SAYING THAT! STOP BEING SORRY!" He pulled his head out of his hands to reveal a face stained with tears and rage, "YOU NEED TO FUCKING MAN UP AND STOP APOLOGIZING ALL THE GOD DAMN TIME! DO SOMETHING FOR YOUR _OWN_ GOOD, DAMMIT! STOP APOLOGIZING, STOP WORRYING ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF YOU, AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE STOP PUTTING EVERYONE ELSE BEFORE _YOU!_" Romano jabbed a finger into Italy's chest to get the point across.

_He's right._ "Okay." Italy said, defeated.

"Good. Now come on, we're going to sign that armistice."

"You mean...you already have it ready? The allies already know and everything?" It shocked Italy, his brother had gone behind his back and set this up, God knows how long ago. It also meant he expected Italy to agree to signing it, anyway.

Romano continued, seemingly unaware of his brother's surprise. "Yeah, all there is to do now is sign it."

_Can I do this?_

**Author's note: **I don't usually do these, I don't know why, but I just don't. XD But, you know, I figured I might as well start, since you guys take the time to read my story, so I should take the time to tell you what's going on, when you can expect to see another chapter, ect.

So sorry this chapter took so long, my laptop caught two trojan horses, and then the hard drive managed to get wiped. And that was all on Christmas eve. DX Merry Christmas. I've been using my little sister's computer in the meantime. I wasn't going to continue this story until I could do it on my own laptop, but then I found out that it would take a whole 2-4 weeks to get the system fully restored, so I figured I might as well get cracking.

I honestly don't like this chapter very much, since I've been sick lately and kinda hastily banged this one out. It's kind of a filler chapter, since we already went through this last chapter, but I felt Italy's POV really had to be shown in this situation, even though we all pretty much know what he's thinking.

There's going to be about four or five chapters of this left, and then a sequel which I've already started writing. You could actually read the sequel on it's own, but it helps to read this one in addition to it because it gives you more insight into why Germany and Italy are the way they are in the modern day. And you'll get to see Prussia. A lot of Prussia. And he'll be meddling, because he's just that awesome.

Next chapter get ready to meet the Allies! (Or, you know, listen to them bicker.) Please review! I really love getting feedback on my stories, good or bad. (But I'd prefer the bad feedback be constructive.) It keeps me going and inspires me to write to my full potential! ^^

*end horribly long author's note*


	16. What Have I Done?

There was a loud ringing caught in Italy's ears as he walked in the doors of large building alongside his brother. He was far to shaken and nervous to even think about where they were and that they were being stared at by those on the opposite end of the war. Of course everyone knew why the two were there, out of the corner of his eyes Italy could swear he saw a few surreal signs of celebration. A smile there, a laugh here, and eyes. Eyes everywhere, all gleeful at the surrender of Italy.

_Don't think about it, don't look at them. Don't think about anything. Just keep walking._

His curiosity overcame him and just as Romano walked through a set of doors, Italy chanced a look back. He was overtaken by a sea of faces. Smiling, laughing faces. Faces talking to one another, hands pointing, cameras flashing, even a cheer or two escaped some mouths.

"Veneziano!" His brother snapped,.

Italy turned away from the crowd to face Romano, who continued speaking.

"Ignore them. They're assholes."

_Assholes?_ Italy thought that term was a little harsh to use on these people who were happy about a _good thing._ Obviously not good for Italy or Romano or Japan or Germany..._Don't think of Germany!_ He had to remind himself.

No, this was a good thing to these people. They were one step closer to winning a war, of course they were happy. If It were any of the allies taking this walk of shame Italy would smile and laugh too, and he wouldn't worry about how they felt, how bad it hurt that person. How much they might have given up. _So much..._

Romano grabbed the smaller Italian by the sleeve and dragged him through the doors into a new room. It was smaller, with less faces, but these faces were much more intimidating. The Allies.

"Dudes, what took you so long? It's half passed surrendering time!" America blurted out, causing Romano to twitch in irritation, obviously suppressing a slew of profanities.

Italy tried making up for his brother's annoyed silence, "We got..." _We didn't get anything. I had a panic attack when we got on the plane and they had to delay our flight... _"Ve...distracted, I guess."

England rolled his eyes at the two, visibly angering Romano more. "Well, thank you for making me sit in this room with _these_ people for 30 minutes of my life more than necessary. Way to be considerate."

"You know what, you British bastard? Don't you fucking tell me about considerate!" Romano spat, jabbing a finger into the Brits chest to emphasize his point, "Do you know what this put us through?"

_By us he means me._ Italy thought, sadly, casting his face downward. _I'm just a big liability._

"HEY! Don't jab me! Couldn't have been _that_ hard for you to surrender."

_It was._

"Angleterre, just stop fighting with 'im so we can get zis over with."

_Please._

"It's not my fault they're late and the oldest of the twits wants to pick a fight!"

"DON'T CALL US TWITS, ASSHOLE! I WASN'T PICKING I FIGHT, I WAS DEFENDING OUR POSTION!"

_He was defending me._

"I'm just saying that it couldn't have been that hard for you two to surrender, considering how often you do it."

_You have no idea._

"You better shut up before I punch the shit out of you!"

"Oh, I'm so scared. Like you'd have the balls."

"Angleterre, would you just shut up already? I don't zink 'e was kidding!"

"SHUT UP, WINE BASTARD! I DON'T NEED YOU TO DEFEND ME!"

"I wasn't defending you, rather I was just trying to inform Britain zat 'e is an idiot zat will get 'imself punched."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING IDIOT, FROG!"

"You, of course."

"Haha! Britain's a total dumb ass!"

"SHUT UP, AMERICA! YOU AND THE FROG CAN KISS MY ASS!"  
>"Ohonhonhon, gladly."<p>

"IT'S A FIGURE OF SPEECH, GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, WANKER!"

Italy just watch numbly as Britain, America, and France bickered. China kept muttering about fighting in Western culture and Russia watched seemingly contentedly with a slightly disturbing smile.

_Do they always fight like this?_

The older Italy just was the trio argue with clenched fists, positively fuming.

"CAN WE JUST SIGN THE DAMN THING AND GET THIS OVER WITH!"

The fighting came to a halt so abrupt that if Italy had been in a better mood he would have found it comical. They three froze with England still holding France by the collar, mid-throttle, and America's arm around the Brit's neck, holding him in a head lock. After a moment, almost as if on cue, they released each other. Britain smoothed over his jacket while speaking, making no eye contact with anyone, "Yeah, sure."

The two Italys were led to a table with the document resting over it's smooth, polished surface. The allies all took turns signing and briefly reading over a few things first, before handing the pen off to Romano, who signed his name in the neatest writing he could manage. The older Italian set the pen down on the desk with a sharp click and turned expectantly to Italy, everyone else's gaze following suit.

_I'm going to be the last to sign, the one to seal the deal._ Italy bit his lower lip in distress, drawing a little blood.

_Just pick up the pen._ Italy reached for the writing utensil with his small hands, now shaking like a leaf in the harshest of breezes, just barely hanging on.

_Okay, now sign your name. See, it's that easy!_ "Okay." Italy said to himself, not purposely aloud, but he had a habit of unintentionally speaking his thoughts often.

'F'

_Okay, that's a good start. _Italy's hand shook violently as he tried to urge himself to continue.

"What's taking you so long, dude? Are you okay? It looks like you're having a seizure, or that one shaky disease...you know, the one where you shake and then die?"

"What the hell, America? Are you talking about Parkinson's? For the love of God, you're so insensitive sometimes! Do the world a favor and shut your fat face for once!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT YOUR FAT FACES AND LET VENEZIANO SIGN THE DAMN THING!"

The room fell reluctantly silent, as it was obvious that both Britain and America had more to add to the subject, but were prevented from doing so. Italy looked over at Romano, thankfully and continued writing.

'e'

_Oh God, what am I doing?_

'l'

_Germany's going to hate me!_

"Is he crying?"

"Shush."

'i'

_But there's no going back now..._

'c'

A tear hit the table.

_This is for you and your brother. Do it for Romano if not for anyone else._

'i-a'

Another tear.

_Oh God, I can't believe I'm doing this._

'n-o'

_No. No no no. _More tears, _No, why am I doing this._

'V-a-r'

_Almost there, it's almost over._

'g-a-s'

With that, on large tear slipped form Italy's eye and hit the document, just below his name very fittingly. He'd put his own pain into signing this.

_Oh what have I done? What have I done? Oh no, oh God no! Germany's going to hate me, everyone's going to hate me! And I can't take it back now!_ Italy's breathing became quick and shallow, he clutched his chest as if he couldn't quite get enough air.

_Oh God, oh God! I need to go! I need to get out of here before I throw up or pass out..._

Italy looked around hurriedly at everyone who was staring at him, obviously worried. Even Russia looked concerned.

"Do you need some air?" China asked, awkwardly. Everyone kinda felt a little awkward at this point. Especially since, technically, they were all allied now. Neither the former Axis aligned Italians or the current Allies really knew how to treat each other now that they were all technically on the same side.

Italy nodded in response to China's question, he felt like he was going to turn blue from lack of oxygen. The small nation turned around and bolted for the door, collapsing half way there. The last thing he heard was Romano in the background loudly exclaiming, "God dammit, Veneziano! Why do you always have to hyperventilate and pass out all the time?"

** Author's note:**End dramatic, then comedic, then dramatic again chapter. There should be about two or three chapters of this story left, depending on how accurate my mental counting is today. And once it's over we get to move on to the nice, shiny sequel that will take place in the modern day, and hopefully right all the wrongs in this story. Of course, with a few dramatic curves balls thrown in. (It's 2012, I can't _not_ throw a dramatic apocalyptic plot line in there.) I've got chapters 1-6 of it already written up in my handy dandy notebook, and even though the theme of it is even more depressing that this one, it's actually a lot more light hearted. That's probably thanks to the addition of Prussia. XD

I'm really excited about it so far, though. My writing skills from the first chapter of this to the sixth chapter of that have improved so much it's a little insane. And I have so many plans for it (Plot twists, galore, my friends.) Not to mention it's a _lot_ fluffier than this. The first chapter is pretty angsty, but right around chapter three it becomes fluff-splosion. And, ya'know, Prussia. 'Nuff said. XD

Anyway, I'm done with all my chit chat on the sequel. You'll just have to wait to see if for now, since I'm not going to be giving out much more hints about it than the ones I already have. Until next time, my lovely readers, adieu!

P.S. Please review, nice shiny reviews always motivate me to work faster! And, even though I have the whole rest of the plot line figured out, I do take suggestions. And usually manage to twist them up into the story somehow. :D


	17. Heaven

Italy rolled over and groggily opened his eyes, the face of his new allies coming into focus. "Ve...what happened?" He asked, sitting up and placing a hand to his throbbing head. _Why does my head hurt so much?_

"You passed out again, idioto." Romano said, rather unsympathetically, though Italy saw a small amount of relief on his brother's face. It wasn't very visible at all, in fact very few would be able to pick out the emotion behind the older Italian's usual mask of annoyance and just plain spite.

"Oh, right...sorry about that." Italy said as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. _I must have really hit my head hard when I fell over._

"Are you sure you're okay?" America asked, "You started getting all huffy and you did a nose dive straight into the floor."

"Yeah, he's fine." Romano answered for Italy as he peeled his brother up off the floor. "He's kind of a dumb ass, so it happens a lot."

"No it doesn't..." Italy said slowly, still mentally recovering from signing the armistice and then fainting face first into the floor.

"For Christ's sake, Veneziano! You've got a fucking nose bleed!"

"Should I get some tissues?" China asked.

"Tilt your head back and pinch the bridge of your nose, that'll help." Britain inputted.

Romano glared angrily at everyone, even though they were trying to help, "No! I got tissues in my car, and that'll just make the blood run down the back of his throat! Stop trying to fucking help him, he doesn't want your damn help!"

That wasn't so true, Italy needed help. Especially since Germany wouldn't help him anymore, "But Romano, I-"

"NO! You _don't._ These people were just our enemies a little while ago, they were insulting us, and looking down on us! Just because we signed a fucking piece of paper that says we're on the same side, doesn't mean everything they did never happened! We almost _died, _Veneziano!"

"But they're being nice now..."

"You're too fucking forgiving, fratello. Come on, we're leaving!"

The room was dead silent as Romano grabbed Italy by the wrist and tugged him out of the room. The Italian just looked back at his new allies as he was dragged towards the door. There faces all said the same thing, 'He's right.'

_He _is_ right, for all the trouble they caused me, for all the trouble they're causing Germany. I don't have to like them or let them help me because I signed a piece of paper that says we're allied. And they don't have to do the same for me, in fact they shouldn't. But I still want help, and I still want friends, and it's not their fault they're in a war and we have to hate and kill each other because of that._

_ Am I too forgiving? Why should I be less forgiving if that's all I want from everyone else? How can I expect Germany to forgive me if I don't forgive, too? Of course, Germany probably won't forgive me, and I've already forgiven him for what he'll do to me. But that's okay, I'm used to that._

_ I love him, anyway._

xxxxx

"Hey fratello?"

"Damn it, Veneziano, I'm trying to sleep here!"

"Oh...sorry. I just had a question."

"Fine. What the hell is it so I can go back to sleep?"

"Ve, when will the armistice be publicly announced?"

"For fuck's sake, talking about that damn thing again? Does it matter? We saved our asses, can't that be good enough for you?"

"I just wanted to know, I thought maybe it would be better if Germany heard it from me, and if I can find him before it goes over the radio I-"

Romano shot up out of his bed and glared at his brother, "Forget about that goddam potato bastard!"

"But I..." Italy caught himself before accidentally mentioning his love for Germany, "...I need him."

"NO. YOU. DON'T. Go back to your fucking room and get to sleep, now!"

Italy clasped his hands pleadingly, "Please fratello, please! Do you know what it's like to have your most favorite person in the world _hate you?_"

Romano's eye twitched and his whole face morphed into anger. He answered spitefully, "Yes."

"Oh..." Italy said, apologetically, he didn't realize his brother had hurt the same way as him, before, "Who?"

Romano grit his teeth and his eyes narrowed, "My own fucking brother."

That hurt. That really hurt. Italy didn't know what to say. He _had_ just declared that Germany was his favorite person in the world. To his own brother.

"Now get out, dammit!" Romano spat, his voice sounded a little choked up.

"F-fratello? Please, no! I don't hate you! You're my brother, you don't count!"

"I know I don't fucking count, now do as I said and get out!"

"But, fratello!"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!" Romano screeched as he chucked a pillow at Italy's head.

The pillow hit Italy square in the face, and it didn't really hurt, but the gesture did. He slammed his brother's door shut and ran out of the house, crying.

"Everyone hates me, it's all my fault! Everything's my fault and everyone hates me! No one will ever like me! Never ever never! I don't deserve to have friends, or brothers, or anything! I don't deserve to be a country, either! I just can't handle it! I can't take this! Everyone hates me, everyone hates me! They'll always hate me, too! Nothing can change that!"

He jumped the small wooden fence around their home.

"Stupid war, stupid world, stupid politics! I hate being a country, I hate it!"

Just beyond the fence was a small meadow that Italy often found himself in, weather his mood was good or bad. This was where he found himself sobbing face first into the sleeping flower buds and long grass at this moment.

"What if me and Germany hadn't been countries? What if we were just people? What would things be like then? Would we even know each other? I think we would! I think God would help us find each other!" Italy smiled faintly at the thought, the tears falling from his eyes slower, "And we'd spend all day playing football and talking, and I could always make him pasta and we'd always have fun and Germany would never have to do paper work and everything would be happy! We wouldn't have to worry about meetings, or wars, or surrendering! Everything would be fun! And then someday we'd just go to heaven like everyone else, and it would be okay, because we would have had a happy life!

"We would know that we were going to die, humans know about how long they're supposed to live. We would know when we were getting old and then one day we'd just be gone to heaven...but countries..." Italy smile fell off his face, "We live so long, and we never really know how long we're supposed to live, it's like a game. I don't know if I'm going to die tomorrow, or maybe a million years from now." He voice faltered, "And with a life so long we have so much time to sin...so many enemies to kill, so many people to hurt...do countries even _g_o to heaven?"

Italy rolled on his back and looked up at the stars above him quietly, it felt like a thousand angles were looking down at him. He waited, as if one of those angles were going to answer his question. Finally he whispered, "I think so. I think Grandpa Rome went to heaven, and Holy Rome, too. I think maybe God understands that we do what we can, that it's not our fault that we're countries.

"I think God just wants us to always do our best and be kind to each other. I think God would let us go to heaven if we really really tried." Italy smiled, "I want to go to heaven."

He thrust his arms up at the sky and grinned, looking at the stars between his fingers, "I could see Grandpa Rome, and Holy Rome, and we could be so happy. But I don't know if I deserve it..."

His arms fell along with his face, "I betrayed Germany and Japan, I hurt mi fratello's feelings, I don't always try my best and when I do I mess things up. I'm lazy, gluttonous, I'm envious, too. But only of humans because they get to live like normal. Maybe I'm a little greedy, too, because of all these things I want. I want to be human, I want Germany to be human, sometimes I just want to die...

"Those are cardinal sins, four out of seven. I'm probably going to Hell, because I'm such a lazy, useless, traitor. Maybe, though, maybe God will forgive me. Maybe if I keep forgiving other people God will forgive me, too, and maybe so will Germany."

Italy's heart swelled at the thought of being forgiven by Germany, "Maybe if I go talk to him first thing in the morning and tell him that I'm sorry, that it was for the best, that one of us was going to die, if not both. Maybe he'll forgive me, I know I probably don't deserve it, but I want it so bad. I want Germany to stay my friend forever. I don't care that he doesn't love me, back. As long as he's still my friend I'll be happy. All I want is to be with Germany and do my best for him.

"He'll respect my honesty, I bet. Yeah, that could work. We could still be friends! I just have to tell him first. Tomorrow morning I'll wake up extra early! That way I can make Romano breakfast and clean the house for him. I bet he'd like that, he's so mad at me and I want him to know I don't hate him. I love him too, but I don't love him the same way I love Germany. That doesn't mean I love him less. He needs to know that! Then I can go to Germany's and tell him everything and beg for his forgiveness, maybe he'll listen, I hope he does. It's worth a shot at least!"

Italy beamed at his little plan. Things really seemed to be looking up, sometimes just going out and sitting under the stars helped.

"Maybe then, if I do everything right, when I die I can go to heaven, too."

**Author's note: **And there you have it! Sorry this chapter was so religious, but Italy is a religious country and I thought it was an important topic to bring up with Feliciano's character. Especially since he has such a simple idea of religion. There's a God. He just wants us to be nice and do our best. It just kinda reflects on who he is as a person and what he values in other people. Sorry if I've offended you by putting that point of view in my story at all.

Sorry if Italy's whole soliloquy was too long for you, but It's kind of an important part of this story because this whole little conversation with himself will resurface in the sequel, somehow. And there was a small amount of foreshadowing here. Very very small, but it's still there. (Don't worry, he's not going to suddenly die and float on up to heaven, as far as I have planned anyway. XD)

Anyway, I've officially decided. Two chapters left. One from Italy's point of view, and one from Germany's. Maybe, if I feel like some loose ends need to be tied up, I'll throw in one final chapter from Italy's point of view, but I doubt it.

P.S. I really love reviews, I kinda feel like a dick asking for them, but what you guys think is important to me. I would like to know how you feel about my story so far, positive feedback is welcome as well as negative feedback, since if I don't know what I'm doing wrong I can't fix it. Just keep any negative feedback you have constructive, since I really don't know what I'm doing wrong if you just right something along the lines of, 'Boo, this shit sucks.'


	18. Storm

Italy had been up since four in the morning just cleaning. Cleaning so much his fingers ached. He'd never cleaned so much in his life, even when he had lived with Austria, Hungary, and Holy Rome. Honestly Italy didn't even know if his brother would even care, but it was the best thing he could think of, since Romano never really expressed much of a like for _anything._ He complained about how messy the house got sometimes, and would often scold Italy for not doing anything about it, even though Romano could just as easily clean it, too. They were both pretty lazy. Italy had decided that the first thing he'd do that day would be to try and eliminate all things that Romano could complain about. That way, maybe if there was nothing for Romano to get mad at, he'd realize that Italy didn't hate him. The younger Italian didn't really get why Romano would think that. He knew he had hurt Romano's feelings by saying that Germany was his favorite person in the world, but that didn't by any means mean that Italy hated his brother.

Regardless, Italy was going to make up for it. Starting with cleaning. He threw the duster he'd been fiddling with to the floor and sighed. That had been the last of it, he'd finally finished the house. To the best of his abilities, anyway.

Italy's gaze wandered to the clock, "Ve, only nine? It feels like I've been cleaning for years."

He walked out the door and out to the tomato garden Romano had planted with the aid of Spain. "I really need to hurry if I want to get to Germany's before he hears anything bad."

Italy began weeding the garden as fast as humanly possible, occasionally pulling out an actual tomato plant here and there. When they didn't have fruit growing on them, it was hard to tell what was weeds and what wasn't. After finishing the garden Italy carefully cradled the little tomato plant carcasses and ran to the meadow to hide the incriminating evidence of what he'd done. He jumped over the short fence and carried them a little ways out into the field, now blotted with dozens of colors from the blooming flowers. Italy gently rested them in the long grass to hide them from Romano. If he knew that Italy had uprooted some of his plants...well, it would be a bad day in the Vargas household; and a violent one at that.

For some reason Italy felt obligated to say a few words on behalf of the plants he'd accidentally killed, "Ve...sorry, Romano's tomato plants...you were always so good at growing tomatoes and stuff, and it's a shame that I had to accidentally murder you because I thought you were weeds. Ve, can you accidentally murder something? Oh, I don't know. Anyway, may you forever live happily in tomato plant heaven. I think that exists, since plants are living things, right? So they go to heaven, too, I think. So, rest in peace, ve...ciao!"

Italy turned and hopped the fence, heading back into his house. He brushed the lightly caked dirt off the knees of his pants before entering the small country home. He smiled brightly as he pushed through the door and entered the kitchen. He was finally going to get to do something he enjoyed. Cooking.

After making pasta (it's good for any meal, really.) Italy set the food out on the table and went up to Romano's room to wake him up. This was the dangerous part. First that Italian knocked on his brother's door. No response. To Italy that meant it was safe to come in. He creaked the door open and poked his head between the frame and the door to spot his brother, who'd rolled off the bed in his sleep. "Psst, fratello..." Italy whispered. Romano didn't stir.

The younger Italian decided he would have no choice but to wake Romano a little more violently. Italy hated waking up his brother. He was a heavy sleeper, and a vicious country to deal with when he finally did come to. Italy cautiously walked up to Romano and poked his face, "Psst, fratello I made us pasta for breakfast...fratello!"

Still no response. Italy crushed his eyes shut and sighed, bracing for the bomb that would go off when his brother did awake. He began to shake Romano, this time speaking in his regular tone, "Come on, please wake up! I went through all this trouble to make you breakfast! Come on, wake up fratello!"

Romano snorted. Italy finally became sick of playing it safe and started shaking his brother crazily, yelling, "WAKE UP! I MADE YOU BREAKFAST, WAKE UP FRATELLO!"

Even then, even after all that Romano still hadn't woken up. Italy was just about to give up when and idea struck him, if it worked, Romano would probably kill him, but Italy really wanted Romano to wake up and eat before his food got cold. He leaned down and whispered in the older Italian's ear, "Romano...big brother Spain's here, he says he wants to marry you."

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Romano's head shot up off the ground instantly, "WHAT THE FUCK, YOU BETTER BE LYING TO ME, VENEZIANO, OR I FUCKING SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL KILL BOTH OF YOU! AND HOW THE HELL DID I GET ON THE FLOOR? OH LIKE THAT FUCKING MATTERS! IF THAT GOD DAMN SPAINIARD IS IN OUR HOUSE I SUGGEST YOU GET HIM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I COME DOWNSTAIRS AND BEAT HIS ASS!"

"Calm down, fratello! It's okay! He's not here and he's not going to marry you! I just said that to wake you up! Come on, I made you breakfast!"

"What the Hell, Veneziano? What kind of way is that to fucking wake someone up! And I still pissed at you, get the Hell out of here!"

"I'm sorry, but I just cleaned the whole house and weeded the garden, and I even made you pasta for breakfast! I wanted to show you that I don't hate you, I really really don't! I promise!"

Romano's glare didn't subside, but he actually spoke kindly, "I know you don't hate me, okay! I might have overreacted a little..." Then something seemed to dawn on him, "Wait! Did you just say you weeded my garden!" His head looked about ready to explode.

Italy answered hesitantly, "Ve...yes..."

"THERE BETTER BE EXACTLY TWENTY THREE TOMATO PLANTS IN THAT GARDEN LIKE THERE ALWAYS WAS WHEN I GET OUT THERE! YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"

"Ve, will nineteen work?"

"NINETEEN? YOU UPROOTED FOUR OF MY PLANTS!"

Italy didn't need to see Romano to know what was going to happen next. He turned and bolted for the door. He had expected something like this to happen after waking up his brother.

"GET THE FUCK BACK HERE SO I CAN KILL YOU!"

Multiple thumps and a yell betrayed that his brother had tripped down the stairs. In the Italian's house that was such a common occurrence neither even bothered checking in the other was okay anymore.

Italy bolted out the door and popped into the car, quickly slamming the door behind him. He watched Romano fume as he ran out to the car, naked as that was how the two Italian's always slept, and started pounding on the front of the vehicle. Italy turned the keys that he always left in the ignition and peeled out, watching his brother fume in the gravel driveway.

The car sped away and Italy let out a sigh of relief. Romano would be okay, Italy knew that that was how it would go. He'd probably go inside, see how clean it was, eat the pasta, and be happy. He wouldn't let Italy know he had made him happy, but oh well. That was just the way his brother was, and Italy had to deal with it. Also, he'd mentioned that he knew Italy didn't hate him, so things had worked out better than anticipated in the first place.

Now all he had to do was hope that Germany hadn't found out about the armistice yet. He tried to think of what the German did every morning.

_He usually gets up at seven if I don't have training, and then he drinks coffee while reading the __newspaper, and I don't think they'd put it in the newspaper since it hasn't been publicly announced __yet, as far as I know. It wouldn't be on his regular radio either, but he never listens to that unless I ask him anyway. But when does he listen to his fancy military radio thingy? One of the most important things and I can't even remember it! He'd definitely hear about the armistice on that if someone doesn't tell him in person first. Usually people don't start telling him things until noon, though. Usually they're too busy doing other stuff. Unless this news is so important someone would put off work to inform him...oh I really hope that's not the case. He really really has to hear this from me._

Italy just continued driving, worriedly. A few storm clouds loomed threateningly ahead, their dark indigo hue staining the flawless blue sky around them. The sky that just so happened to be the exact same color as Germany's eyes. Italy smiled, trying to reassure himself. _Everything will be fine, don't worry. You just need to talk to him. Don't start freaking out again, the second you start freaking out is the second everything will go wrong._

He was still worried behind that smile though, and every time he thought of what could go wrong the breathing behind that smile would quicken.

_Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry. You don't need to worry about it._

Italy released the fake smile with a deep, shuddering sigh. "I hope this works."

xxxxx

Rain was coming down heavily and lightning scorched across the sky as Italy slammed the door of his car. He'd arrived at Germany's pretty quickly, thanks to being a country. Italy still didn't have much idea of how that worked, but it didn't matter. He ran from the car to the door, anxiously drumming his fingers on his pants as warm rain drenched him. It was the beginning of September, and yet it was still warm and stormy like Summer usually is. He tentatively raised a fist to the door to knock, but he was surprised to find that, just before his knuckles meet the wood, it had swung open to reveal a familiar face.

A very very unhappy familiar face.

"Ciao, Germany?" It wasn't intended to be a question until it fell out of Italy's mouth.

The German's gaze narrowed, "What the Hell are _you_ doing here?"

_Oh please don't tell me he already knows, _"I need to talk to you about something..."

The entire time Germany's tone was stern and controlled. "I have no interest in talking to traitors."

All the blood drained from Italy's face. _Oh God, he knows, oh God he knows, why? Why, just when I thought maybe things would work out._

"Now get the fuck out of my country."

Italy's heart shattered right there on the front step, "Oh please, just let me talk to you! You weren't supposed to know yet! I was supposed to tell you! Oh God, why can't anything in my life go right?" The last question was to himself.

"You want to know why?" Germany took a step out of his door, leaning down close to Italy's face, "Because you're a worthless, cowardly, lying, excuse for a nation. I'll be damned if I _ever_ let you talk to me again. Do you _know_ what you've done to me?" Italy thought he saw a tear glitter on one of Germany's lower lids, he began shouting, "DO YOU!"

Italy backed down, jamming his eyes shut, _Nothing was supposed to go this way! _"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He cried, loudly. Germany just looked away with an expression of pure disgrace and hate.

"I can't believe you did this...I can't believe you. You've betrayed me."

_Oh please don't say that! I know what I've done! Please stop reminding me!_ "No! No, I never meant to! I was trying to do what was best!"

Germany whipped around at Italy suddenly, grabbing him by the collar and screaming into his face. "WHAT WAS BEST FOR WHO! THE ALLIES!"

Italy looked into Germany's eyes and where he used to see the color of the sky he only found those dark indigo storm clouds overhead reflected back in them. His voice came out quiet, trying to get Germany to understand, "No...no, for everyone."

Germany looked away and released him, causing Italy to stumble backwards off the front step onto the German's walkway. Italy watched as the blond nation clenched his fists so hard he seemed to be shaking.

"Germany?" Italy asked again, hoping that he'd understand. Hoping Germany would just think about it for a second.

"Go away." His voice was so soft, and yet the most terrifying thing Italy had ever heard in his whole life.

_No, I need to convince him. I might have ruined everything for now, but this could still work if he just listened..._ "Germany, it's okay, just because I surrendered it doesn't mean-"

"GO!" The sudden outburst startled Italy, causing him to fall backwards into a puddle of mud.

"I was trying to save you!" Italy confessed through the tears and rain and mud.

Germany glared at him with so much hate Italy just wanted to die right then and there. Just die and float away to heaven. If he was even good enough for that.

"You can't save me. You can't save _anyone._ You will always be useless, and I was a fool to think otherwise."

Italy attempted standing up out of the mud as he spoke, "P-please...please Germany I-"

Italy was cut off as he felt something forcefully hit him square in the face, he heard the loudest crack in his life, louder than thunder, originate from his nose. He was too stunned to even cry, until he looked up to see what had hit him. Germany's fist was still outstretched to the point where it had made contact with the Italian's face. The German's eyes were now practically aflame with pure hatred.

Italy gathered a few shaky breaths, trying to put together what had just happened, _He hit me, oh God he punched me and it feels like he broke my nose. Oh God, oh my God he hates me so much. And I deserve it._ Italy heart felt like it was being torn into millions of pieces as sobs erupted from his chest, _I deserve everything, every punishment in the world!_

He felt a crack in his side as Germany's steel toes boots rammed into his ribcage full force, Italy cried out louder in pain. "I'M SO SORRY!" He screamed through the physical and mental anguish. An other kick came, this time to his head, knocking it so violently sideways Italy thought his neck might have broken.

"SHUT UP YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Germany screamed, as he knelt down next to Italy and pulled him up out of the mud by the collar.

"Please, please Germany, just kill me! PLEASE! I can't live with you hating me like this, and everything hurts, I'd rather be dead! I'm so sorry! Please, please just kill me!"

Germany glared straight into Italy's eyes and then down at what was around the Italian's neck. The iron cross pendant dangled there, helplessly; It showed that Italy, no matter what side he was on, still put Germany before anyone else. It was the necklace he had received after the Pact of Steel. After making a promise. A promise that Italy had just broken. Germany grabbed the pendant and tore it off the Italian's neck, snapping the chain easily. It felt like he'd torn out all the broken pieces of Italy's heart in one swift yank.

He then flung Italy into the concrete walkway as if he were a rag doll. "Like I would waste my time killing you. Someone as pathetic as you doesn't even deserve _death_." And with that, the only thing in the world Italy loved more than life, spat on him. "Now get the fuck out of my country."

He turned and slammed his front door with so much force the whole house seemed to shake. Italy began hyperventilating through screams of panic and heartbreak. His head hurt from being kicked and he could no longer think totally straight. _Oh God, he hates me so much, this wasn't supposed to happen! Everything hurts, everything hurts, so so bad. I deserve to feel like this. I don't deserve to die and go to heaven. I'm so stupid and weak and all I deserve is to lay around like a broken toy for the rest of my life. I'll be of just as much use as I ever was before._

Italy tried standing so he could do as Germany said and leave the country, but moving caused him pain so intense it was like he was being lit on fire. He knew he had some broken ribs, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken as well. Every time he tried moving his head the world spun around. He probably had a concussion.

He tried again, this time making it halfway up before falling over and letting out a scream so loud and powerful it hurt his own eardrums. _What am I going to do? I need help...but no one can help me now. The only country I know within helping distance is the one that did this to me._ Italy's uncontrollable sobbing continued, he'd never felt so much pain in his life. Everything he had was broken, his body, his heart, his spirit. Germany had smashed all of it, and Italy honestly believed that he deserved it.

"WHY!" He screamed, looking up at those damn storm clouds as lightning flashed angrily across the sky.

"OH GOD, WHY CAN'T I JUST DO SOMETHING RIGHT?" He continued yelling. He wondered if Germany would hear him from inside the house. He then realized that even if the German could he wouldn't care.

Italy managed to push through his pain enough to army crawl to the car. Getting in said car was the most painful ordeal of his life, but he managed after many minutes of pure torture and screaming. Thankfully the rain had stopped and the sky was once again flawless blue by then. At least he wouldn't have to drive with broken bones and a concussion through a storm.

Even just sitting up hurt. Italy turned the keys in the ignition and took one last look at the house through his fuzzy, tear soaked vision. His gaze rested on the window, and it seemed to waver in and out of focus. He could swear that between the curtains he saw one eye the same exact color as the sky after the storm.

**Author's note:** Oh God, this one actually physically hurt me to write. Sympathy pains. Sorry it's so long, but I wanted to load up the beginning with a cute tomato funeral and a little humor to make up for the major sadness at the end here. This story's almost over, and sad to say I don't think it's going to end on a very happy note since all we have left of this is Germany's point of view on this situation.

But there's always the sequel to look forward to when it comes to happy notes! The sequel starts out a bit depressing, as well, but it is all worth it for the eventual fluff and happiness.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and don't hate me for abusing poor little Feli! I honestly didn't want to, but historically, after his surrender, Italy got the shit beat out of him by Germany. Not to mention Italians started going into concentration camps, as well. I figured that getting beat by Germany was the only real way to represent what had happened between to two countries.

P.S. Reviews are always helpful, whether they be positive or negative. :D


	19. The End

**Author's note:**__This is it guys. I figured I'd put my note up at the top this time so that I don't ruin the flow of the story. This one might actually be the most depressing chapter yet. ^^" Sorry about ending the story like this, but fear not. There's a link for the sequel at the end of this chapter.

I'd like to thank all my lovely readers and reviewers and everyone who was every touched by or cried at this story. I never imagined that anyone would enjoy this fic so much, especially since my writing skills in the earlier chapters are a little shaky. Thank you for following this story to the end and I hope to see some of you return to read the sequel as well.

xxxxx

Germany sat at his desk attempting to get some work done. No such luck. Ever since Italy had run away the German had been very anxious and upset, and he knew why, but there was no way in Hell he'd admit it to himself. Maybe he had thought before that he loved Italy, but after everything he'd gone through he had gone into a state of complete denial.

_It was stupid of me to think I loved him. I don't love him. I don't love other men, especially not men like him. In fact, I don't love at all. _He clenched his fists as his heart seemed to throb in in chest, _I don't love anyone._

Germany had done _everything._ He'd called the Italian's home time and time again, at least five times every hour the day Italy had run away. He didn't know that Italy wasn't there to answer the phone, and Romano had ignored the calls, knowing who it was, (Germany was the only one who ever called the house.) The next day, after calling at least ten times beforehand, had shown up at the small villa, only to find it empty. He didn't know why, he didn't know it was because the two Italians had left to sign an armistice. He just returned home with an aching heart, pure worry, and no answers.

He asked everyone, every single one of his men that might no the location of the auburn haired nation. Not a single person had any idea. Germany found himself crying in his room that night when he realized he'd have to sleep alone in his bed yet again. Now that Italy had disappeared without a trace Germany realized just _how much_ he loved seeing that small man. How much he loved hearing him laugh, and seeing his smile, and that one strand of hair that always flew out in a defiant curl from his head. The little curl that stuck out, just like Italy.

When Germany awoke in his room, just before his eyelids parted he silently prayed that when he opened his eyes he would see Italy curled up beside him, like usual. He told himself that if there really was a God, he would let Italy be right there with him. He would bring the country back to him. When Germany opened his eyes and he only saw a neatly made half of the bed, he decided that there wasn't a God. There couldn't be a God in a world were Italy had left him. He had also decided that he never loved Italy. He lied to himself over and over again in an attempt to fix his broken heart.

_I never loved him. Never. I don't need love. I don't need him. Love is weak, just like Italy. I have no time for weakness._

Finally Germany found himself at his desk, trying to pretend like he wasn't worried, like his heart wasn't broken, like he wasn't wondering why Italy had run off. He remembered the horrible dream he'd had and quickly shook it from his mind, he _refused_ to believe Italy had surrendered. He absolutely wouldn't consider it for even a moment. Until the dream would creep back into his mind and taint his thoughts with the images of Italy's broken body laying in the mud.

_He couldn't have surrendered. There's no way. He could still come back, he could always still come back. It's only been a couple days._

Germany quickly gave his head an angry shake, _No, it doesn't matter if he comes back or not because I definitely never cared for him. Never at all._

Lies. Everything he thought was just lies in an attempt to heal, but he just couldn't. A nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that Italy had left. He had left for good, gone off and surrendered, leaving Germany to fight this front alone.

As if to make things worse, a sharp knock was heard at his office door. Germany stood and made his way to the door, taking a deep breath before slowly pulling it open. He knew what was coming.

"Sir, we've just gotten news that the country of Italy has signed an armistice with the Allied forces."

If the man ordered to give Germany this information was still talking, the German could no longer hear him. All he heard was the blood roaring in his ears and his own panicked, shallow breathing as he tried to steady himself against the door frame.

"Sir?"

"Go away." his tone was surprisingly threatening for someone about ready to burst out crying. But Germany was stronger than that. He would not cry over this.

"Uh...yes, sir." The man scurried away, obviously terrified. Germany could care less. He slammed the door of his office so hard it hurt his own ears.

_I knew it. Oh Gott, I knew it. I am not sad, no this hasn't made me sad. _The lies he fed himself continued, _I never loved him, so he hasn't broken my heart. He has, however, broken a pact. For that he needs to pay. He is an enemy now, and shall be treated as such._

He took one look at the stack of paperwork on his desk and realized that there was no way he'd ever get any of it done. Needing to hit something to release a torrent of emotion he had pretended was anger, he frustratedly swiped everything from his desk. Papers littered the room and his telephone smashed to the ground, releasing a long droning 'beeeeeeeep' from being left of the hook. An inkwell stained the carpet and pens and pencils lay around like shrapnel from a log house swept away in a tornado. It wasn't satisfying in the least. Neither was the frustrated yell he'd let out in addition to the trashing of his office. He decided that nothing in the room was of any use and left. He found himself sitting in his living room.

Everything he saw made him angry. Or at least, he called it angry. He would not admit that Italy had filled him with sorrow. His eyes traveled from one thing to another, but no matter where he looked he just saw Italy. Everywhere. It was infuriatingly painful. Even when he shut his eyes, Italy was still there, mocking him. Mocking him with the smile he bore, that god damn smile hiding a traitor beneath it. Lies swimming behind his honey colored eyes. He kept telling himself that that was his enemy. He was training himself to hate everything about that country. He took his broken heart and mentally swept out all the little pieces the same way he'd sweep out his own house, until his chest was empty and all that was left was a dull ache.

_I don't need happiness or love, I don't need a heart at all._

And yet that pain that he called anger remained. When he heard the sound of something roll into his driveway his eyes popped open. He peered suspiciously out the window. W_ho the Hell would be coming over at a time like this?_

An answer came in the form of a soaking wet Italian wandering up to his door. Germany whipped the curtains shut and walked to the door briskly, forgetting to breath. Just another symptom of anger, he told himself. Now he was to confront his enemy, like a good soldier, and get him the Hell of his land. He faltered before opening the door, sucking his breath in desperately, trying to remind himself that Italy was now an enemy.

_You hate him. This feeling is hate. Open the door and get rid of that traitor._

He turned the knob and swung the door open, suddenly thrown face to face with Italy. He wasn't ready to see him so suddenly. Germany's face stayed hard with hatred, but inside he felt an explosion of emotion happen. He felt all the 'anger' melt away into bitter happiness at seeing the Italian's face again. It quickly fled though, leaving just the feeling of that 'anger' yet again.

"Ciao, Germany?"

_You say it like it's a question. Like your asking me if I hate you. _"What the Hell are _you_ doing here?" _Because if that's true the answer is yes._

"I need to talk to you about something..."

_And yet he keeps speaking as if I'd never said a thing. Damn Italian, he needs to know that he is not welcome to come around here and talk. He is not welcome here ever. _"I have no interest in talking to traitors.

Italy's face drained of all color and his expression was that of pure distress. _Glad to see I've made my point._

"Now get the fuck out of my country." The words were practically laced with venom.

Italy spoke with panicked, pleading speed, "Oh please, just let me talk to you! You weren't supposed to know yet! I was supposed to tell you! Oh God, why can't anything in my life go right?"

_Don't listen to him, ignore everything the traitor says. Answer that question by breaking his heart, maybe then he'll leave me alone._

"You want to know why?" He took an intimidating step forward out into the rain, and leaned down and looked into Italy's eyes. He'd never seen them filled with so much fear. _That's good._ He tried to convince himself, "Because you're a worthless, cowardly, lying excuse for a nation. I'll be damned if I _ever_ let you talk to me again. Do you _know_ what you've done to me?" Maybe he'd said to much by betraying that Italy had hurt him. To late now, _real_ rage gripped him tightly where a heart would be, "DO YOU!"

Italy shrunk away in fear as he continued to cry and plead, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"I can't believe you did this...I can't believe you. You've betrayed me." He voice was quiet and cold, as if he was telling a horrible secret. Anger just bubbled under his skin, spreading over his whole body in waves of disgust and hatred.

"No! No, I never meant to! I was trying to do what was best!"

_ Utter bullshit._ Germany wouldn't have it. He grabbed Italy by the collar and screamed into his face, "WHAT WAS BEST FOR WHO! THE ALLIES?"

Italy met his gaze and the sadness seemed contagious, draining the true anger from Germany, just filling him with the 'anger' he had felt earlier. The anger that was actually pain in disguise. Italy's face was strangely calm, still soaked in rain and sadness, but it was as if he were trying to gently explain something, "No...no, for everyone."

Germany wasn't going to listen. Listening would change the mind he'd made up. If he changed his mind this would only happen again. He reminded himself that that damn Italian was a fucking snake in disguise. Germany had convinced himself of that by now. He let go of Italy and turned away.

_Don't look at him. I never want to see him again._

He trembled as he clenched his gloved fists.

"Germany?"

_If he makes me look I'll fucking kill him._

"Go away." The German whispered dangerously.

"Germany, it's okay, just because I surrendered it doesn't mean-"

"GO!" He screamed, whipping his head in Italy's direction. The smaller man fell backwards in surprise. _I'm going to kill that asshole for everything he's done._

"I was trying to save you!"

_Save me? _"You can't save me. You can't save _anyone._ You will always be useless, and I was a fool to think otherwise." Again, his voice was quiet. Calm, almost like the eye of a hurricane. No matter what you do though, eventually the eye will pass and you will be thrown back into the storm.

"P-please...please Germany I-"

Italy never got to finish his sentence, and Germany had convinced himself he didn't care. Italy was knocked terrifyingly fast back into the mud puddle he had attempted climbing out if. Apparently by Germany's own fist. He'd never punched Italy before, and he hadn't expected to do it at that moment, but listening to the Italian had become a painful ordeal. Punching him silenced everything that made Germany hurt. It released all pain and brought it back on the one who had inflicted it upon him. He had no idea that Italy had more pain than he could bear already.

Sobs erupted from the small, broken country laying in mud. Germany couldn't find himself able to care anymore. For a second he wondered how they'd gotten here? How they'd gone from being closer than anyone to hating to the extent of brutality? Germany decided to spare himself by no longer questioning it. He decided that now he was going to live in the moment and do what felt _right. _At this moment the only thing that felt right was making him _pay._ Germany pulled his leg back like a spring and released it in to Italy's rib cage with all the strength he could manage. He heard Italy gasp for air like a fish out of water and then scream wildly.

"I'M SO SORRY!" The Italian yelled, hiding his face and taking the punishment without resistance.

The words only angered Germany more. He kicked Italy in the back of the head to stop him from speaking. The German didn't know why at that exact moment, but later he'd come to realize he didn't want to hear Italy speak because of the guilt it instilled in him.

"SHUT UP YOU LITTLE SHIT!" He screamed, pulling Italy up by the collar with on hand.

"Please, please Germany, just kill me! PLEASE! I can't live with you hating me like this, and everything hurts, I'd rather be dead! I'm so sorry! Please, please just kill me!"

Germany glared at him in an attempt to hide how much that statement killed him inside. He had hurt Italy so much he made him want to die. _He deserves to feel like that._ Germany tried convincing himself. He didn't really believe it, though. He glanced downward and a flash of lightning glinted off something on Italy's chest. Germany's heart stopped under further inspection. A shard of sadness stabbed him in the chest.

The iron cross he'd given Italy. It was painful to look at around the Italian's neck. It was a proud symbol of his country, but when Italy wore it is was a proud symbol of his loyalty. Germany was instantly reminded of who he was hurting, who this _really _was. Italy with the big, amber eyes that scrunched shut when he smiled or laughed. Italy who was made happy as easily as he was made sad. Italy who snuck into his bed every night, despite Germany's fake dislike. Italy who could paint and sing and cook. Italy who was built for happiness and love, not war. _Mein Gott, what have I done?_ Germany quickly yanked the pendant off from around the Italian's neck and stuffed it in his pocket, discarding Italy by simply throwing him down like a selfish child throws away a broken toy.

_I could never kill you, even if I wanted to. _"Like I would waste my time killing you. Someone as pathetic as you doesn't even deserve _death._"

The statement wasn't meant to harm like his previous ones. Now when he spoke it was intended to scare Italy away so that he'd never come back to Germany. He had realized something when he saw that pendant. He didn't deserve Italy. He never would deserve him. Someone that kind and selfless would be better off alone for the rest of his life rather than with Germany. All he would do is cause heartbreak and pain to that delicate little Italian. He'd already caused heartbreak and pain to that Italian, not to mention _physical abuse._ He spat to get the taste of guilt out of his mouth. He really hadn't meant for it to land on Italy. _Just another thing to feel guilty about._

"Now get the fuck out of my country." _Please just leave, it's for your own good._

He walked into his home and slammed the door behind him, sinking down slowly against the cold oak and succumbing to raging, torturous guilt and pain. No, he'd never hated Italy. He could never let himself hate Italy. He could lie to himself all he wanted, but he was as weak to that Italian as that Italian was weak to anything else. He threw his face in his hands and let regretful tears fall from his eyes. He heard Italy whimper loudly on the other side of the door as he probably struggled to stand. He just kept praying silently that he'd manage to get up and leave on his own. _I can't help you, please, I can't have anything more to do with you. Just leave and forget about me and I'll try and do the same._ One, painfully loud scream tore through the storm. It made Germany's ears burn and his whole heart break.

_Please, oh please Italy you can do it! Just go! I can't do anything for you anymore. I'm no help! You can do it, I know you can! Push through everything I've done to you, please just push through it!_

His whole body ached with sadness, distress, guilt, regret, loss, heartbreak.

_That fucking dream came true, it happened and I knew it all along!_

"WHY!" He heard Italy scream outside. _Oh Gott, I'm so sorry. I've never hated a person as much as I hate myself right now._

"OH GOD, WHY CAN'T I JUST DO SOMETHING RIGHT!" That statement tore whatever was left of Germany's heart into so many pieces it might as well have been grains of sand on a beach, _Please, understand that you've done nothing wrong. Mein Gott, I'm so sorry, I love you! I'm sorry! Leave me! Leave me forever and go find happiness somewhere else! It was never your fault! Never!_

He continued crying wildly into his cupped hands until he noticed that it had grown quiet outside his door after a while. Not a single noise, not a cry from an Italian, not a rumble of thunder, not even a drop of rain was heard. He pushed himself up off the floor, in panic, suddenly afraid Italy might have passed out or even died. He rushed to the window and pulled the curtains apart so that one eye peered out. The first thing he noticed was that the storm had died. He then locked eyes with a broken, black eyed, bleeding man from the inside of an automobile. He quickly retracted from the curtains and collapsed to the floor, sighing in relief. _If there is a God, please watch over Feliciano. I'm not worth the task, anymore. I don't think I ever was._

xxxxx

**Sequel: **Sixty Nine Years: http:/ www. (fanfiction) .net /s/7766009/1/Sixty_Nine_Years


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